Kaleidoscope (I): Colours
by shimotsuki11
Summary: Remus Lupin has long believed that love is a luxury beyond his means. Nymphadora Tonks has been too busy proving herself as an Auror to pay any attention to romance. Their strong if unexpected friendship is a source of comfort in difficult times—until it threatens to turn into something more. (Eventual RLNT. Sirius Black, Order members. Set during OotP.)
1. Angles of Perception

**~ _1_ ~**

**Angles of Perception**

Auror Headquarters was never exactly quiet.

But today, Nymphadora Tonks found it harder than usual to ignore the buzzing of a dozen different conversations, or the occasional flash of red robes as some witch or wizard bustled past her cubicle. Because just about anything would have been more interesting than the paperwork that was her current fate.

Stuck at her desk, with its litter of empty coffee cups and haphazardly stacked files, Tonks tipped her chair back on two legs. She chewed the end of her quill and looked back over some hastily scribbled notes from an ongoing investigation, managing, pretty well, to pay attention to her work.

Until Kingsley Shacklebolt stuck his head over the cubicle wall. "Tonks?"

Her chair crashed down on all four legs. "Ow!"

"Sorry." But he was chuckling. "Are you free for lunch? I was hoping I could talk you into showing me that Muggle curry place you're always on about."

Tonks blinked. Kingsley had always been friendly, but surely she was a bit too junior on the force for him to see her as a lunch chum?

His grin turned a little wry, as though he'd guessed the direction of her thoughts. "Let's just say I'm a curry fan, and it would be a shame to miss out on a new place. Humour me."

"Glad to." Tonks grinned back. "Curry does sound good on a rainy day like this."

**o.o.o  
**

Tonks's favourite waiter was on the lunch shift. He took their order speedily and left them with some lovely fragrant tea.

"Ta, Shaheed," she said, settling in happily to wait for the curries to arrive.

"Thanks for coming along." Kingsley kept his voice low. "I actually wanted a chance to talk to you away from the Ministry."

Tonks stopped adding sugar to her tea and looked up.

Kingsley was about as dead earnest as she'd ever seen him.

"You told me once," he said, "when something ridiculous was going on, that if it ever came down to a choice between the Ministry and Dumbledore, you'd side with Dumbledore."

"And so I would," she vowed, immediately, around the handful of butterflies that had just set up shop in her stomach.

"All right, then. Now is the time to take sides." He lowered his voice even more. "You-Know-Who is back."

Tonks nearly knocked her teacup over. "What?"

"He's definitely back, and he's already called up the old Death Eaters. We're sure he's recruiting more where he can. Dumbledore's been working to alert people, obviously, and put everyone on their guard. But Fudge seems to think Dumbledore's fabricating the whole thing as an excuse to grab power."

Tonks stared. She'd always thought Cornelius Fudge was a bit ineffectual to be heading up the Ministry for Magic, but this—?

Kingsley sighed. "Fudge has actually got the Ministry working to discredit Dumbledore and undermine his warnings. The _Daily Prophet_ won't even print a word he says these days."

"What can _we_ do, though?" Tonks scowled. "I'm just a very junior Auror—no one in the Ministry's going to listen to me, if they won't listen to Dumbledore."

"No, of course not." Kingsley's smile turned a little crafty. "Dumbledore has other options. He's running a secret organization that's working to oppose You-Know-Who no matter what the Ministry does." He took a sip of water. "And so I wanted to get you away from the Auror Office, to ask if you were interested in joining up."

"Absolutely!" Tonks sat up very straight, and this time the teacup did go over. "What do I have to do?"

"There's a meeting tomorrow night." Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "If you're really willing to join us, and risk being sacked if the Auror Office finds out that you're involved with Dumbledore—not to mention risking a confrontation with Death Eaters in the very near future—then come along."

"If I weren't willing to fight Death Eaters, I wouldn't be an Auror," said Tonks stoutly, mopping up tea with her handkerchief (this was a Muggle restaurant, after all). "And it's not the Ministry I care about, it's fighting Dark wizards." She gave him her best fierce stare. "I want to join."

"Good," said Kingsley, with a smile that just missed being a smirk. "I thought you would." He pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket. "Dumbledore's group is called the Order of the Phoenix." He started to hand the parchment over, but then he stopped, tapping it on the table instead. "And, er, there's something else I should tell you, about the house we're using for headquarters."

******o.o.o**

The next evening, following Kingsley's instructions, Tonks Apparated directly into an alley that opened onto the dingy square at Grimmauld Place where the Black family house stood.

_Sirius Black's_ house.

"Here we are." Kingsley was waiting for her, arms crossed, obviously trying not to breathe too much of the alley's foul air. "You ready?"

"Of course," said Tonks. She shoved her hands into her pockets and raised her chin.

Kingsley began to lead her across the square. "I should probably warn you—Sirius may not be exactly how you remember him."

"No surprise there," said Tonks. "It's been, what? Fourteen years?"

"And he was in Azkaban for twelve of them." Kingsley looked at her sideways. "I'm not sure he's completely stable. He has moods, sometimes."

"I would, too, if I'd been wrongly imprisoned for a third of my life without even a show trial," Tonks muttered.

She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing pulse, as she watched an odd bit of rubbish tumble past in a fitful gust of wind. Joining the Order of the Phoenix had major consequences. But she couldn't even think about any of that until she had got past meeting Sirius. She was so very glad to know that her cousin—her childhood hero—was innocent after all.

If only she could tell her mother.

They had reached the far side of the square, directly between Number Eleven and Number Thirteen. Tonks concentrated on the Secret that had been scribbled on the scrap of parchment Kingsley had slipped her in the curry shop, and Number Twelve appeared out of nowhere, shouldering in between its neighbours.

And who should be waiting on the doorstep but Mad-Eye Moody, leaning on his stick, his magical eye scanning the square. Tonks laughed a little. She wasn't really surprised to see her mentor right in the thick of things, retired from the Aurors or not.

She _was_ glad to see him looking like his fierce and suspicious old self, after he'd spent the better part of the past year locked in his own magical trunk. But she knew better than to say anything about _that_.

"Evening, Shacklebolt," said Mad-Eye gruffly. And then his scarred face twisted into something that might terrify the uninitiated, but which Tonks knew how to see as an affectionate grimace. "Hello, girl. Heard you were coming tonight. Think you can handle this?"

"This," said Tonks with spirit, "is what I've trained to be an Auror _for._"

"Good lass." He dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Come inside, both of you. Mind the portraits, Tonks, there's one near the door that screams nasty rubbish if you wake it."

The old Black house was just as gloomy and Dark as it had seemed in the tales her mother and Sirius used to tell. A whole gallery of portraits glared at her in the entrance hall, so she raised her chin and glared back—and promptly stubbed her toe on something that turned out to be an umbrella stand in the shape of a troll's foot.

She stopped, looking at the offending obstacle a little more closely.

It was an _actual_ troll's foot.

She shivered. Dark, indeed.

"Come along, girl," Mad-Eye rumbled. "We have our meetings downstairs in the kitchen, where there's enough room."

"And food." Kingsley grinned. "I don't know if you've ever met Molly Weasley, but Merlin's socks, can she cook."

Mad-Eye led the way down a flight of narrow stairs that opened into a large basement kitchen, old and soot-stained, but warm with light from the fireplace and a few heavy iron chandeliers. A long, battered table stretched much of the length of the room, lined with wooden chairs, and there were worn wooden benches ranged round the edges as well. Plenty of room for the Order. But most of them weren't there yet, it seemed.

In any case, Tonks only had eyes for Sirius.

She might not even have known him if she hadn't been expecting to see him. The handsome, laughing young man she remembered had been replaced by someone stooped and gaunt, with a deeply carved scowl. He was watching her, warily, out of the corner of his eye.

But he was _innocent._ Not a traitor, not a murderer, not a Death Eater.

She bounced over to where he was standing. "Sirius! It's good to see you again!"

Her cousin raised one eyebrow and fixed her with a rather menacing expression.

Someone else moved, too. Tonks blinked, registering for the first time that Sirius had been standing next to a thin, shabby-looking man with greying hair. Now the man was watching Sirius carefully, subtly braced to intervene.

Tonks merely grinned, uncowed. Azkaban or no, she _knew_ her cousin.

"You don't recognise me, do you." She crossed her arms and leaned back, looking up at the unfamiliar snarl that twisted at the vestiges of the face she'd known. "I'm Andromeda's daughter. You spent an awful lot of time levitating things to keep me entertained when I was a sprog."

Sirius froze, mid-scowl, and his whole demeanour changed. He laughed his great bark of a laugh, a sound straight out of her memory, and pulled her off-balance and into a one-armed hug. "Not little Dora!"

She wrapped her own arm around him, partly just to keep herself upright, but she gave him a squeeze before letting go. "The very same. Only," she grimaced, "I don't use _that name_ any more. Just call me Tonks."

"And you're an Auror?" Sirius shook his head in rueful disbelief, though he was still grinning. "Last I knew, you were still years away from getting your Hogwarts letter. I certainly never thought _you'd_ be the new recruit Kingsley was talking about." He gestured at the man next to him, who had relaxed now, and was watching them both with a certain degree of amusement. "This is Remus Lupin, my oldest friend. Remus, this is my cousin Dora—" he glanced at her sideways, so she shook her head, hard, and he laughed again. "Or, it seems I should say, Tonks."

"Hello, Remus," she said, offering her hand.

For an instant, he almost seemed to stiffen. She had the very odd feeling that she'd thrown him off balance.

But what could be so surprising about a handshake when you were meeting someone new?

_Remus Lupin._ The name seemed familiar, somehow, although she couldn't quite place it...

And then he shook off the hesitation—if there'd really been anything there at all; everything had happened very quickly—and closed his hand around hers.

His grip was surprisingly strong.

"Hello, Tonks." Remus smiled right into her eyes. "It's lovely to meet you, especially if you can make Sirius the Sulk laugh like that."

"Oi," Tonks vaguely heard Sirius pretend to growl. But now Remus Lupin had most definitely caught her full attention.

She had thought he was plain. Mousy, even, dressed all in brown as he was, with grey streaks in his light-brown hair.

But that was before he smiled.

Merlin, his smile was warm, the way it lit up his face—and now that she was paying attention, she could see a certain glint of mischief that suggested he might not be so out of place as a friend to Sirius.

"Why aren't you a Dora?" he asked, letting go of her hand. "That's a nice name."

"Too close to my full name," she muttered. Best keep a safe distance from _that_. Remus looked like he was about to ask another question, so she hastily added, "Which I am not telling you." She grinned, but it wasn't an apology, and she sent a mock-glare Sirius's way for good measure.

Her cousin merely smirked, so she knew he'd spill her secret soon enough. But at least he didn't say the dreaded name in her hearing.

"You know," said Sirius, "you two actually have met before."

"What?" said Tonks. Remus might be good at blending into the background, but she didn't think she ever would have forgotten his smile.

Remus shook his head, looking just as bemused as Tonks felt. "I don't think so—"

"Oh, yes, you have, Moony. You and I were having an ice cream in Diagon Alley one day right before going back to Hogwarts, maybe sixth year. My cousin Andromeda happened by, and she stopped to chat with us. Remember that?"

"All right, yes."

"Well, Andromeda had a little peanut with her, didn't she?"

Remus laughed, his face lighting up again. "And that was Tonks?"

"It certainly was." Sirius was pure mischievous glee now, with no sign that he'd ever been scowling. "I seem to recall that she got quite upset when her mum wouldn't buy her an ice cream, and you let her have a big bite of yours. Ever the gentleman."

"_I_ don't remember that at all," Tonks put in. She supposed she would have been about two at the time. "But I reckon I should thank you for the ice cream!"

She gave Remus Lupin a good thorough look. He raised an eyebrow, and looked slightly uncomfortable, but she was curious now. What kind of sixth-year boy would share his ice cream with a sprog he'd only just met? And what sort of nickname was _Moony,_ anyway?

******o.o.o**

The meeting started. Tonks watched.

After all, she _was_ an Auror, and watching was part of her job.

"Let us all wish a very warm welcome to our newest member, and a member of the Auror squad," said Dumbledore—"Nymphadora Tonks."

"Erm," said Tonks, "thank you—but it's just Tonks. Really."

And Remus Lupin had that warm laughter in his eyes again.

As the meeting went on, between the bouts of appalled shock that hit her every time she learned more about how useless the Ministry was being in this new fight against Voldemort, Tonks found herself watching Remus rather a lot. She had meant to watch Sirius, but her cousin was actually being rather boring at the moment; he didn't say anything, and he spent most of the time scowling at the table.

Remus was quiet, too, but Tonks could see that he had half his attention on Sirius all the time. Once, Professor Snape said something rather rude, and Sirius fixed him with a scowl even scarier than the one he'd tried on her. But Remus leaned in, and whispered something in her cousin's ear, and Sirius laughed under his breath—if a little grudgingly—and went back to staring at the table.

And when he wasn't watching Sirius, Remus was watching everyone else. She thought she could see him weighing thoughts and ideas, and indeed, once or twice he broke in to make some objection or suggestion. His points seemed like good ones, and people seemed to pay attention.

Every now and then, he even watched her.

She wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, so she pretended not to notice.

******o.o.o**

After the official part of the meeting ended, Tonks was introduced all around. Half the room seemed to be Weasleys, including Bill and Charlie, who she knew from Hogwarts (she'd known little Percy the swot, too, but Sirius had warned her not to ask about him). There was a cup of tea, and a slice of chocolate cake—Kingsley was right about Molly Weasley's cooking, if the cake was any indication—and then things broke up for the evening.

"'Night, Sirius," Tonks said, and then all at once she caught him up in a hug, which he returned, a little shakily but with great enthusiasm. "I'll see you soon."

It felt like a promise.

Sirius grinned after her, and there, at his shoulder, Remus was smiling again.

She really liked that smile.

Tonks followed Kingsley and Mad-Eye up the stairs, wincing when the thumping of Mad-Eye's wooden leg made a few of the slumbering portraits mutter and stir in their frames. She was so busy with her Stealth and Tracking that she walked right into the umbrella stand again, but both she and the troll's foot remained upright, so no harm done.

"I'm glad you're with us, Tonks," said Kingsley, once they had pulled the front door safely shut behind them. "Given the way the Ministry's going, the Order will need all the good people we can get."

"Oh, I'm with you lot, all right." For once, Tonks was in no danger of cracking a grin, even though an Auror as tough as Kingsley Shacklebolt had just called her _good._ "This is real. More real than anything I'm doing at the Ministry." She shivered a little. "I knew Fudge was a self-important twit, but I had no idea he was so far in denial that he's putting us all at risk."

"Only, be careful at work," said Kingsley. "You've got to be completely business-as-usual, so no one thinks anything's changed, or you won't be half as much use to the Order as you could be." With a soft _crack,_ he was gone.

"You'll be fine, lass," said Mad-Eye. "Just remember: constant vigilance. That's the most important thing."

"Of course," said Tonks, grinning a little after all. Ministers for Magic might break faith with the wizarding world, and notorious murderers might turn out to be completely innocent, but Mad-Eye Moody never changed. Not that Barty Crouch hadn't tried...

"There's something else you can do, though," her mentor said.

"What's that?"

"Come round here for a drink sometimes, of an evening."

"Here?" Tonks blinked.

"Let me show you the security charms," said Mad-Eye abruptly, and there were so many locks and charms and passwords that Tonks had to concentrate, hard, until he was satisfied that she could undo all the protections herself and then set them again.

"Aye," he said then, as though their conversation hadn't been interrupted. "Black can be a bit unstable, when he gets bored. And he seems to like you. It would be good if you could help keep him company sometimes. It's only Lupin and the Weasleys living here with him, but the rest of us try to look in from time to time between meetings."

"I can do that," she said. "Glad to."

It would be fun to get to know her favourite cousin again.

******o.o.o**

And so it was that, two nights later, Tonks was back at Grimmauld Place, trying to remember all the disarming charms and password spells. The front door finally swung open, much to her relief, and she scurried through, securing it again behind her.

She made it all the way along the dimly lit hall without waking any portraits or tripping over the troll's foot, and clumped down the basement stairs with a grin—

—only to find herself flattened against the kitchen wall as Sirius shoved his way past with a face like a thundercloud, muttering vile curses under his breath. He disappeared up the stairs and slammed the door at the top.

So much for a friendly drink.

Tonks was not alone in the kitchen, however. Sirius's friend Remus was sitting at the table, still as stone, gazing right past her and up the stairs with a look on his face that she couldn't even begin to read.

"Erm," she said. "Wotcher." She shifted her weight from one dragon-hide boot to another. "It seems I've picked a bad time to come for a visit."

Remus looked at her, then, his eyes clear and brown in his thin face. "Maybe not," he said carefully.

Appraisingly.

"Maybe you can help."

Tonks swallowed. She was no expert on emotions—she was just a simple, straightforward Dark-wizard catcher. And Sirius's current official status as the most wanted Dark wizard in all of Britain was only indirectly related to the predicament at hand.

She raised her chin. "How?"

"Mmm." Remus sat back in his chair and tapped at a tumbler of firewhisky with one finger. "What we need is something that will distract Sirius until he forgets that he's sulking."

That sounded reasonable. "Like what?"

"What we need," said Remus slowly, "is a _really good prank._" The sudden wicked gleam in his eye was not at all what she had been expecting. "Are you in?"

"Yeah." Her grin was back, in full force. As was her curiosity. "I'm in."

Life as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Tonks thought, looked to be _significantly_ more interesting than keeping up with paperwork at the Ministry.

And Sirius Black wasn't the only Order member she wanted to get to know better.

******o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's notes:** _Kaleidoscope_ has a long history—parts of it were started before _Deathly Hallows_ came out. Some of the chapters were originally posted, in whole or in part, at the LiveJournal communities **rt_challenge**, **metamorfic_moon**, or **day_by_drabble**; thanks to everyone who ran those communities and all the reviewers who provided such wonderful support and feedback. For this version, all the chapters have been edited and revised (some more than others) to ensure that they are all consistent with each other and with the overall development of the story.

_Kaleidoscope_ will eventually consist of three "books": one for _Order of the Phoenix_, one for _Half-Blood Prince_, and one for _Deathly Hallows_ (although if you've read my other fic posted here, you know I won't be writing quite up to the _end_ of _DH_, heh). This is the OotP book, and it will be twelve chapters long.

The earliest version of this chapter was a drabble that was posted at **rt_challenge** in January 2007.

[**August 2013: A note concerning canon-compliance and Pottermore.** I had always intended for this story to be completely canon-compliant (although it will end in April of _DH_ year, so no worries about a tragic ending!) - but just as I had finished posting Part I here at FF.N, the Remus Lupin backstory was released at Pottermore. Obviously, the new information JKR has given us about how Remus and Tonks fell in love and got married wasn't available to me during the seven years (!) I've already been working on this fanfiction project. And I do still want to tell Remus and Tonks's story as I have imagined it. So here's what I will do: I will incorporate the new Pottermore information about all details up to the point where this story begins, just before _Order of the Phoenix_. That means I will keep my story consistent with the new information about Remus's family history and childhood, and the nature of Greyback's attack, and Remus's and Tonks's Patronuses. But from _OotP_ on, I will be consistent with book canon only, and will disregard JKR's backstory from Pottermore so that I can tell my version instead. Interestingly, I do seem to have imagined a timeline for Remus and Tonks's relationship that's not too far from what JKR has revealed, even if the details are different!]


	2. The Lie of the Land

**~ _2_ ~**

**The Lie of the Land**

"Have a seat," said Remus. "Strategy session." Despite his worry for Sirius, he felt a grin starting, in honour of his new accomplice.

"Okay." Tonks pushed off from the wall and joined him at the kitchen table, dropping into one of the worn wooden chairs. She met his grin with one of her own. "Where do we start?"

He had to give this Nymphadora Tonks credit for adaptability. She'd poked her head round the door into the kitchen and only just missed being flattened by Sirius as he went storming out in a roaring tantrum. Remus had expected her to make her excuses and slip away—surely she had only stopped by tonight to get to know her cousin better. But some instinct had goaded him into recruiting her to help him shake Sirius out of his mood.

And he'd clearly caught her interest with his invitation.

She was watching him now, with bright dark eyes under a thatch of bubble-gum-pink spikes. It was hard to think of her as an Auror, small as she was, wearing ripped jeans and a thoroughly faded Hobgoblins concert T-shirt. But Remus had known Mad-Eye Moody for a long time, and he gathered that Tonks was a particular protegée of the paranoid old fighter. So he knew better than to underestimate her.

"Sirius always used to tell the best stories, when I was a sprog," she said, her grin mellowing into a fond smile at the memory. "About the pranks he used to play at Hogwarts with his friends. I suppose you were one of those?"

"I was," said Remus, keeping his tone light.

But she must have seen something, because her gaze sharpened, and her voice softened just a fraction. "And James Potter was another, was he?"

"Yes," said Remus, with a shrug and a smile that were only slightly forced. "We got up to all kinds of mischief together." No sense bringing up Peter... "That's why I could use your perspective here. Might be easier to catch Sirius off guard with a prank if it's not just me behind it."

"Right," said Tonks. The determined set of her jaw was uncannily like Sirius in one of his stubborn moods. She stared down at the table, tracing along some of the cracks and scratches with her finger.

Remus poured her a glass of firewhisky to match the one he'd been drinking, and the one Sirius had abandoned.

"Ta," she said, raising it in his direction. She took a cautious sip, swallowed carefully, and set it down. Then she blinked once or twice and straightened up with a look of triumph. "I have it. Socks."

"Socks?" Remus, bemused, took a sip of his own drink.

"Socks." Her grin was wide, and possibly slightly smug. "Socks are intrinsically funny, right? So we start there."

**o.o.o**

Not ten minutes later, the table was littered with scraps of parchment, all lists and notes and diagrams. The glasses of firewhisky sat nearly untouched. Tonks was wholly absorbed in prank creation.

And Remus, although he was holding his own as they plotted and schemed, found himself increasingly intrigued by Tonks.

With her sharp eyes and ready grin, she reminded him a little of Sirius—the old Sirius, from before Azkaban. But not entirely. Even as a boy, Sirius had a dark edge to his humour that was missing in his cousin. Most likely, Remus thought, glancing around the soot-stained kitchen, this was because Tonks hadn't grown up in the House of Black.

"Filth!" The sudden creaky mutter came from just outside the kitchen door.

At that, Remus had to suppress a bitter smile. Such excellent timing. But Tonks started, eyes wide, and her wand was in her hand before Remus could so much as blink. Moody would have been pleased with her reflexes.

"It's only the house-elf," Remus murmured. "He's very old, and he seems not to be quite right in the head—he'll make a point of insulting you, so just try to ignore him."

"Oh," Tonks whispered, her eyes now alight with curiosity. "Is it Kreacher? My mum used to tell stories about visiting this house when she was a girl." She turned in her chair and raised her voice. "Kreacher?"

The wrinkled, wizened house-elf slunk into the kitchen, wringing his hands. "Oh, poor Mistress, to have such abominations in her house!"

"Come over here, Kreacher," said Tonks. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Andromeda's daughter."

The house-elf ignored her direct command, but looked right at her. "Filth," he said again. "Shape-shifting half-blood freaks. And bloodthirsty monsters." He fixed baleful eyes on Remus for a moment before turning and shuffling away again.

"That's a first," said Tonks, wrinkling her nose. "I've met plenty of people who don't trust me because I'm a Metamorphmagus, but I've not been called _bloodthirsty_ before." She shrugged. "Guess you're right—he _has_ gone round the twist."

Remus smoothed out a crumpled piece of parchment, drawing a careful breath, focussing on his now slightly ink-stained fingers.

Was Tonks just saying that to lighten the moment?

Or did she actually not know that he was a werewolf?

She had shaken his hand, at her first Order meeting, without even the slightest sign of hesitation. So either she was remarkably open-minded, or—

—she didn't know.

_You should tell her,_ warned a stern voice in his head. _She's your Order colleague. She deserves to know._

Which was entirely true.

Remus looked up just in time to see Tonks flash him a conspiratorial grin with a gleam of mischief in her eye that was more than worthy of a Marauder.

She was _fun._

And she might know already, in which case there was nothing to be gained by bringing it up except for embarrassment and awkwardness on all sides.

His name had been all over the _Daily Prophet_ a year ago. Surely Aurors were informed—surely they read the papers.

He decided that he would settle for the "remarkably open-minded" hypothesis and not think about things too awfully hard. If she didn't know already, someone in the Order would say something soon enough.

Right now, Remus preferred to enjoy her friendly smile while it was still directed at him.

**o.o.o**

They held their breath, listening. Tonks caught his eye and her grin broke out again, the brightest thing in the shadowy kitchen, brighter even than her spiky pink hair. Remus couldn't help but grin back. He felt a little like a fourth-year, hiding behind one of the staircases at Hogwarts with his friends, waiting for some elaborate prank to be tripped.

They didn't have to wait long. Rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a scowling face peered around the edge of the door.

This scowl, though, wasn't a mark of the poisonous rage that had sent Sirius barrelling upstairs earlier in the evening. This was the kind of perfunctory scowl that was trying to stop itself from twitching into a grin. Remus relaxed, quelling a smile of his own, although he didn't bother to keep it from showing in his eyes.

"Full marks for the synchronised sock choreography, Moony," Sirius drawled. "But—music by the Weird Sisters? I never would have guessed you were a fan."

"I had," said Remus, with an admittedly smug nod in Tonks's direction, "an accomplice." Sirius hadn't seemed to notice her arrival when he stomped past earlier that evening, mid-tantrum.

"Wotcher, Sirius," said the accomplice in question.

Sirius turned his head to see his little cousin wiggling her fingers at him. "Wotcher, Dora! Er, Tonks," he amended hastily, when she fixed him with a _look_. "Merlin, but you're just like your mum when you glare at me like that."

Her eyes went wide with horror. "I am _not_."

"Trust me," said Sirius, pulling a chair out from the table and settling into it with a comfortable slouch. "Spitting image."

Remus sat back and listened to them banter, nursing his firewhisky. A smile, or even a laugh, crossed Sirius's gaunt face much more often than usual. He clearly found Tonks to be just as much of a bright spot in this dark house as Remus had already begun to do.

Would she keep visiting? Anything that cheered Sirius up was to be most strongly encouraged.

And if it happened to cheer Remus up too, well, that was a bonus stroke of luck.

"Tell me you weren't in Slytherin, at least," the heir to the House of Black was saying.

"Slytherin House is not necessarily a nest of vipers," Tonks insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "There's _my mum,_ for one." But Sirius raised a sceptical eyebrow, and she laughed, relenting. "Okay. I was in Hufflepuff. Like Dad."

"I'm shocked!" Sirius shook his head, feigning disappointment. "No cousin of mine belongs with _that_ bunch of duffers."

"Prat." Tonks wrinkled her nose, and punched Sirius lightly on the shoulder. "Gryffindor bravery has its place, and all. But you should be _glad_ I'm a Hufflepuff."

"Why's that?" Sirius's eyebrow climbed again.

Tonks went on smirking, but she leaned toward him across the table, and all at once her dark eyes were almost solemn. "Because you'll never have a more loyal friend, that's why."

Sirius blinked, and nodded a little, before reaching for his firewhisky.

She sat back in her chair, satisfied. "Can't get rid of a Hufflepuff, you know. So I reckon you'll be seeing a fair bit of me around here."

Remus, safe in his quiet corner, smiled at the byplay—and silently applauded Tonks for her deliberate display of friendship toward her cousin.

He was caught completely off guard when the impish grin Tonks had aimed at Sirius swung round and found him, too.

**o.o.o**


	3. Marauding for the Cause

**~ _3_ ~**

**Marauding for the Cause**

"We'll want Tonks for this one," said Mad-Eye gruffly.

His voice held a hint of pride, as well, Tonks thought.

And she held to that thought, because it eased the sting when the basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place immediately filled with murmurs of _Yes, naturally, easier for her._

She only sat up straighter, smiled brightly, and gave a brisk nod. "Right, then, I'm on it."

"I think that's a marvellous suggestion, Alastor," said Dumbledore. "Nymphadora has many talents to offer the Order beyond her, shall we say, natural affinity for disguise."

The Headmaster's habitual blue twinkle was a little too shrewd for comfort just now.

She Metamorphosed away a blush—wondering if that meant she _was_ a cheater, after all—and tipped Dumbledore a nod and a cheekier grin.

"I want backup, though," Mad-Eye went on. His normal eye focussed on her for an instant, no doubt picking up on the crestfallen look that she had meant to suppress, because the corner of his mouth twisted into what, for him, was a sympathetic grin. "Not because it's your first mission, lass. If Gibbon and his contact need to be followed, and they go off in different directions, we need someone for each of them." He paused, scanning the faces gathered around the long table. "Lupin, you're available tomorrow, aren't you?"

Tonks let herself start to relax. She liked Remus. They'd been a team already once, hadn't they?—dreaming up a prank to nudge Sirius out of a sulk last week.

Only, then she heard his reply.

"I'm available," he said to Mad-Eye, "yes."

But his voice was terse. Almost sharp, really. And Tonks saw that his mouth had tightened.

Well. So much for the camaraderie she'd thought they'd found.

It shouldn't really matter. After all, she had only just met the man. But her heart sank a little, all the same. She had seen things—that kind smile of his, an unexpected spark of mischief—that she had rather thought might make him nice to have as a friend.

Tonks raised her chin higher and forced herself not to let the grin falter. She could do this. She would _show_ them that she was a real asset to the Order, even if they all thought she just lazed about, changing her face for fun.

Except that when Remus actually caught Tonks's eye, his smile warmed again. "I'd be honoured to stand backup on Tonks's first mission."

She tossed him a mock salute, taking a deep breath and letting it quietly out again. Whatever it was about Mad-Eye's request that Remus hadn't liked, at least it didn't seem to be the prospect of partnering with her.

Or so she hoped.

**o.o.o**

Most of the Order dispersed after the meeting was adjourned, but Remus was glad to see Tonks stay behind to chat with Sirius. It was becoming clear that she had a knack for cheering her cousin up as little else could.

And tonight, in particular, he was glad to see Sirius making her laugh in return. Tonks was new, and itching to prove herself—and the Order as a whole had spent the meeting underestimating her and making assumptions, just because she was different.

Remus rather suspected he could guess how she felt.

He fetched the bottle of firewhisky from the deep cabinet where Sirius stashed it, dismantling the spells they used (at Molly's insistence) to keep it twin-proof. He poured three glasses and slid two of them along the table toward the others.

"Cheers," said Sirius, taking a healthy swallow.

"Ta, Remus." Tonks sent him a smile, though there was still a slightly cautious edge to her expression.

"To our mission." Remus raised his glass to Tonks before he took a sip and let it burn its way gently down his throat.

Tonks blinked at him for a moment, and then seemed to come to some decision. She straightened out of her slouch and wrapped both hands around her glass.

"I didn't make Auror just because I can Metamorphose," she said, with an intense expression that stood out all the more sharply against the whimsy of her lime-green hair and loose, faded plaid shirt. "I don't want you to think that, if we're going to be partners on this mission."

"I know." Remus met the dark gaze straight on. "Mad-Eye couldn't wait to send an assignment your way. He's very proud of you, you know. Talks all the time about what a brilliant Auror you are."

Tonks brightened a little at that, and then she shrugged and looked away, slightly sheepish. "I suppose the Metamorphosing is useful, though, sometimes."

"There is that," said Remus, mildly. "Were you thinking of a disguise for the mission?"

"Yeah." Her contagious grin came to life again. "If we're staking out a second-hand shop, I thought maybe I would do something like this."

She scrunched up her face in a look of deep concentration—and then her features _moved,_ and when she looked back up at Remus and Sirius, she was a little old lady, with wrinkles and leathery skin and wispy grey hair.

Sirius hooted. "You look just like Great-Aunt Drusilla!"

"That's brilliant." Remus leaned toward her, looking at the fine mesh of wrinkles around her eyes. "I'd never guess it wasn't real."

Tonks smirked, and let her features melt back to what they'd been before, except that her hair ended up tangerine-coloured this time.

Remus found himself studying what seemed to be her usual face. Not a wrinkle to be seen—this was fascinating. "Can you just change any feature at all, any way you want?"

And suddenly the stiff wariness was back. "Mostly, yeah."

Remus winced. "Sorry," he said, raising his hands and sitting back in his chair. "It's just that I've never met a Metamorphmagus before, and I couldn't help wondering."

"Go on," said Tonks, looking weary now, and resuming her slouch. "Try me."

But it wasn't fun anymore. Remus berated himself, silently. He of all people should know better than to make an issue of _what_ someone was, at the expense of _who_ they were.

"No, no." He took another sip of firewhisky and tried to smile an apology. "It's really none of my business whether you can do, say, a pig snout for a nose."

"A _what?_"

Tonks sat bolt upright again. But she wasn't angry this time—her astonished eyebrows had vanished under her fringe, but the grin was back.

Sirius was sniggering, too. "Not what you expected, was it, peanut?" He nudged her with his elbow.

She nudged back, dark eyes dancing. "Not exactly, no, not with most _gentlemen_ of my acquaintance."

"Moony's not like that," Sirius pronounced, mock-solemn. "You don't have to worry about him."

"I'm not like what?" Remus looked from one cousin to the other, missing the joke.

"Never you mind," said Sirius, sniggering again.

"I haven't ever tried a pig snout," Tonks mused, settling back into her chair. "But I like a challenge." And there it was again—that conspiratorial smile that Remus remembered from the sock prank. Something warm sparked, deep in his chest.

Her nose stretched and grew.

And then Sirius, never one to be outdone, asked for rabbit ears. The rest of the evening only got sillier.

Remus couldn't even _begin_ to remember the last time he had laughed so much.

**o.o.o**

Tonks shifted a little—the wooden bench where they were perched, in a dingy little park across the street from the second-hand shop that Snape's latest tip had led them to, was awfully hard. She'd been on plenty of miserable stake-outs in her capacity as an Auror, but that didn't make this particular bench any easier on her backside.

Remus, beside her, was impressively still. Not a fidget to be seen.

"You're good at this stake-out business. Maybe you should have been an Auror." She turned her head to grin at him, keeping one eye on the entrance to the shop. "What _do_ you do for a living, Remus?"

If she'd thought he was motionless before, that had nothing on how still he went now.

But she only had enough time to start wondering why she'd said the wrong thing when he smiled—it was a little forced, but it _was_ a smile—and said, "I'm working full-time for the Order these days, actually."

He wouldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Oh, right," said Tonks, quickly. "That's good luck for the Order, then."

"I wonder," was all he said, but his smile eased a little.

Not a topic to pursue with him, obviously. Tonks turned back toward the second-hand shop, but now she kept one eye on Remus. She doubted he was giving all his time to the Order because he was independently wealthy; he was always impeccably neat, but there was no denying that his clothes were rather shabby. So maybe he simply didn't have a job right now. That would explain why her question made him uncomfortable—and perhaps why he'd been irritated when Mad-Eye so casually assumed he'd be available for this mission.

She wondered why on earth a wizard as clever and agreeable as Remus Lupin hadn't been snapped up by some lucky employer three times over.

"There," said Remus, suddenly, just as Tonks caught the motion herself and snapped to full attention. "It's Gibbon."

"He's alone," said Tonks. "We could keep watch here to see who his contact is, so we know what to expect before we move in. Or we could go inside now and watch what he's doing while he waits."

"What's your preference? You're the lead on this mission."

Remus was watching her closely. She couldn't help feeling as though she were sitting her Defence N.E.W.T., or her Auror qualification exams. The man who'd laughed so hard with her over firewhisky and silly noses just last night had turned into a deadly serious member of the Order of the Phoenix—and well he might have done, as Death Eaters were not something to trifle with.

"In now," she decided. "We'll be close enough to see and hear what happens when the contact arrives."

Remus nodded once, and she thought she read approval in his expression before he threw Mad-Eye's Invisibility Cloak over his head and vanished from sight.

She let out the breath she'd been holding.

Tonks shifted her face back into what Sirius insisted on calling "old Drusilla" and hobbled unevenly, but quickly, out of the park and across the street. She pulled the shop door open wide. A little bell tinkled overhead. She shuffled through the doorway, hoping she was taking enough time to let Remus slip past her and inside the shop before the door shut.

And then an invisible hand touched her elbow to let her know he was through.

Tonks almost raised an eyebrow. Standard Auror procedure for Invisible Backup, that was. She started to wonder how Remus knew it, until she realised that Mad-Eye had probably trained the whole Order. Then she had to suppress an affectionate smile for her mentor.

"I can only give you two pounds for it," an elderly Muggle shopkeeper was saying. He squinted at an extremely ugly lamp, carved in the shape of a shrieking banshee, with a stained shade of Slytherin-green silk. "It's not in the best shape."

"Yes, fine," said Gibbon, impatiently. "Done." He snatched the money from the old man's hand, shoved it into the pocket of the black raincoat that had to have been Transfigured from a cloak, and stalked out of the shop.

"Young people today have no manners," the shopkeeper grumbled, picking his way along a narrow path between shelves and tables crowded with things that might as well have come straight out of old Grandma Tonks's attic, dust and all.

She watched him set the lamp down at the far end of a table overflowing with lamps and vases.

"Must be a drop," came a quiet voice in Tonks's ear.

"Yeah," she murmured, trying not to move her lips. "I'll buy the lamp and take it outside. You stay here and see if anyone comes looking for it." Snape's tip had suggested that Gibbon and another Death Eater planned to meet here, but this was better—if the lamp held a message, maybe the Order could get it for themselves.

Tonks began to work her way over to the table with the lamps, trying to look as if she were browsing.

Of _course_, with Remus there to see it, her boot caught on something. She tripped, and nearly went sprawling. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed the back of a moth-eaten overstuffed chair to right herself. The culprit was an errant loop of hose from an ancient vacuum cleaner that was almost, but not quite, tucked under the table. She shook her ankle free, and gave the hose a good shove with her foot.

The bell over the shop door tinkled again. Tonks looked that way without turning her head.

It was Avery. There was only one reason for a Death Eater to be here now.

Aiming one last surreptitious kick at the vacuum, Tonks sped up as much as she could without breaking cover, edging her way around the table toward the banshee lamp.

"Hello," Avery said to the Muggle shopkeeper, apparently unable to stop a small curl of disdain from lifting his lip. "I'm looking for a lamp. Something with a green shade, perhaps?"

Tonks hissed a quick breath and gripped her wand. But before she could cast a single spell, the green lampshade faded to a pale, water-spotted blue. Three other lamps around the table suddenly sported shades that looked as though they had come straight from the Slytherin common room.

She pursed her lips in a silent whistle. Remus was _good_. Although she knew that already, from his spell-casting for the sock prank.

She picked up the banshee lamp and started around the other side of the table, heading toward the entrance to the shop, where the till was.

"What's that you've got?" Avery was right beside her.

"Dear me, young man," she wheezed, "you startled me."

She turned and started to walk away, but his hand closed over her arm.

"One moment." His voice wasn't _quite_ menacing—he probably thought she really was a batty old Muggle, and it seemed the Death Eaters weren't yet ready to start Muggle-baiting in broad daylight. "I'm a collector, and I'm looking for just the right lamp. Let me see what you've got there."

Tonks felt a tingle of magic slide past her hand just before Avery pulled her around to get a look at the lamp. It was a gaudy, red-and-white lighthouse now, under the stained blue lampshade.

Avery frowned.

Tonks sent silent gratitude in—well—what she _thought_ was Remus's direction. Avery was still suspicious, but at least he wasn't _sure_ she had his lamp. But now she had to get herself out of this fix.

There was no time to plan anything clever.

She could only think of one thing...

While Avery was busy glaring at the lamp, Tonks flicked the wand she held, hidden, in her other hand.

_Whzzzzzzzzzzzzhhh._

The vacuum cleaner sprang to life in a cloud of dust.

Avery yelped, and let go of her arm.

Tonks jabbed with her wand again, while he was distracted, and the vacuum hose rolled free, stopping only when it had swallowed the hem of Avery's long coat (another badly Transfigured cloak, of course).

_Grrrrrrrrrffffffff._

Avery was yelling, now, kicking at the vacuum cleaner and trying to pull his coat away from the persistent hose.

"I'm sorry, sir! Terribly sorry!" The shopkeeper came shuffling in their direction, at speed.

Tonks ran for it.

Or at least, still in character, she performed the world's most rapid hobble, threading between tables with the lamp clutched in one hand. She stopped at the till just long enough to drop a Muggle fiver on the counter, and scurried through the door.

The swiftest touch on her elbow told her that Remus was through as well.

**o.o.o**

Under the Invisibility Cloak, Remus was grinning.

And why shouldn't he grin? Hadn't he and Tonks just intercepted Gibbon's message from right under Avery's nose? With _flair_. Coming off best in an encounter with a Death Eater was more than enough reason to grin. In this fight, they were going to need all the victories they could snatch, no matter how small.

They.

The Order.

Remus was _part_ of something again.

At this exact moment, in fact, he felt very much part of a team. Working with Tonks was already almost as natural as working with Sirius and James, or Lily and Marlene, or the Prewett boys, had once been, and this was only his first mission with her.

Why shouldn't he grin, indeed?

The door to the second-hand shop snicked closed behind them. Tonks ducked into a narrow alley between the shop and the newsagent next door. "_Finite_," she muttered, and the whine of the vacuum cleaner ceased. Avery, however, went on yelling.

Remus felt rather sorry for the Muggle shopkeeper.

He joined Tonks in the alley, pulling the cloak off as soon as he was out of sight of the street.

The grin, he kept.

"Well, that's that!" he said. "Back to headquarters?"

Tonks turned and looked back at him, out of her own face now, under short black spikes. She gave a quick nod, and Disapparated.

She wasn't grinning.

Remus felt his own grin falter as he spun on his heel and followed.

They emerged in another alleyway, the dank spot across the square from Number Twelve that was the Order's Apparition point.

"What do you think about bringing Sirius in on this?" Remus asked as they crossed the square toward the house. "It cheers him up when he can help, and another head might be useful for figuring out what's in this lamp."

"Yeah," said Tonks, "okay." She shifted her grip on the gaudy lighthouse, and wouldn't meet his eyes.

The last remnants of Remus's exhilarated grin twisted into a grimace.

_Don't let that head swell up so fast, Lupin._

Just because he'd been unexpectedly good at pulling pranks as a boy, and had survived his years in the Order the first time—that was no reason to assume a fully qualified Auror would be pleased about working with _him_.

Number Twelve loomed up in front of them. They climbed the front steps and disarmed the security spells, working in silence. Once they had the door unlocked, Remus held it open for Tonks to pass through.

"Thanks," she said, but her voice was subdued, and she still wasn't looking at him.

Not so much of a team, then, after all.

**o.o.o**

Tonks clattered down the stairs into the kitchen, just ahead of Remus. Not being able to see his face made it easier.

Such high hopes, she'd had.

She found Sirius alone in the dim shadowy room, sitting in his usual place at the long table. He looked up at once from the sport pages of the _Daily Prophet_ with an expression that was half curiosity and half envy. "Any luck?"

"Oh, yes—mission accomplished," Remus answered from behind her, sounding cheerful enough. But there was a careful note in his voice that made her wince.

"We got something that Gibbon left for Avery," she said dutifully, holding up the lamp.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't quite fit my image of Death Eather aesthetics."

"Indeed," said Remus, dryly. "_Finite_." The banshee returned, with her green lampshade.

Sirius snorted, but then he looked from one of them to the other. "Did something go wrong? You both look a bit glum."

"No," said Remus quickly, "it all went fine." He huffed a wry laugh under his breath. "Although I suspect Tonks is rather wishing she'd had someone more effective than an unemployed amateur for backup on her mission."

"What?"

She blinked, startled into looking right at him. His smile was slightly twisted, and his eyes were guarded.

He really meant it.

"Don't be _daft_." She set the lamp on the table with a thump. "You were brilliant! The right spell in the right place at the right time—" She looked away again, running one finger absently along the edge of the green lampshade. "You're no amateur, Remus. You've had loads more experience than I have. As far as I know, I've ever even faced an actual Death Eater before today." She swallowed. "And I'm not proud of how that went. I'm sorry."

"What?" Remus echoed. "What can you possibly have to be sorry about?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling at the banshee. "Don't try to humour me. You know I was hopeless. Avery wasn't breaking any laws—there was nothing I could do, officially." She sighed, deflating a little. "And I couldn't think of anything _unofficial_ to do, either, except to pull a prank like a third-year at Hogwarts." She dropped into the chair next to Sirius and propped her head on her hands, threading her fingers through the short black spikes she'd automatically chosen to match her mood and pulling at her hair until it hurt. "I wanted to show you that I could do this. That I'm worth something to the Order."

A chair scraped, and then Remus was sitting beside her. "Tonks," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "That's exactly what you _have_ done."

She made herself look, dropping her arms and turning her face slowly toward him. His eyes were warm and open again, and she actually thought she saw—_respect_.

"You were the brilliant one. Spontaneous, effective, and _fast_." His lips twitched, and then his grin began to reappear, a hint of the marvellous one he'd had when he came out from under the Invisibility Cloak. "Most of the time, the Order is most emphatically operating under the table. We've got to be creative, and invisible, and do what we can with what we've got, which isn't ever much." He raised an eyebrow. "If you can pull more pranks like the one you came up with today, you'll be a formidable asset. And that's no joke."

Tonks sat a little straighter in her chair, taking that in.

"Is anyone going to bother telling me what happened?" Sirius pretended to grumble.

"There we were," said Remus, with a dramatic sweep of his arm. "In a Muggle shop. Tonks had the lamp that Avery's contact had just dropped off, and he was grabbing at her arm and being entirely too curious about it."

"And?" growled Sirius.

"She animated," Remus whispered, "a _hoover_. An old, _loud_ one."

"Ah." Sirius was sniggering now.

"It tried to eat his cloak. Quite persistently, I should add." Remus's grin broke through again, sharpening into something downright mischievous. "You should have seen the look on Avery's face!"

Tonks gave a little snort, remembering, and then a chuckle. Remus caught her eye, with that eyebrow raised again, and all at once they were both shaking with helpless laughter. Just as they had been the night before.

"I'd go pranking with you anytime, peanut," said Sirius, a shade wistfully.

"Glad to hear it," said Tonks, wiping her eyes and remembering what Remus had said about giving Sirius things to do. "We happen to have, right here, one certified Death Eater message drop."

"We need your twisty little brilliant mind to help us work this out." Remus pushed the banshee over to Sirius.

"What are we, then?" Sirius asked, squinting at the lamp. "The Order's crack pranking team?"

"I like the sounds of that," said Tonks.

"I do, too," said Remus, very quietly.

He really did have the warmest smile that Tonks had ever seen.

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's notes:** An early version of an outtake from this episode was posted as a drabble at the **rt_challenge** community on LiveJournal in January 2007. Lots of commenters there wanted me to write the actual prank that Tonks came up with, so here it is. :)


	4. Stripes

**~ _4_ ~**

**Stripes**

Sirius sat slouched in a corner of the kitchen, scowling at the flames that writhed and twisted in the fireplace and ignoring the Order members who had begun to arrive for that evening's meeting. He shouldn't even _be_ there—he should have gone with Moony. But Dumbledore was being unreasonable about letting Sirius leave the house, and Remus, the stubborn git, had taken the old man's side. Again.

"Oi, Mad-Eye!" Tonks's clear voice cut through the rumble of greetings and pleasantries. "I've only just thawed out from all that high-altitude flying you made us do last week. Next time, give a warning, and I'll bring an anorak!"

Blinking, Sirius straightened up and let the scowl fade. His little cousin acted tough, but he could tell his darker moods worried her. Besides, it wasn't _her_ fault if Moony was bullheaded and Dumbledore was paranoid.

He waved at her. She came straight over and gently tweaked his ear.

"Wotcher, Sirius. You look cheerful tonight!"

He shrugged, but he managed half a grin. "Hi, peanut." Then he did a double take and laughed out loud, foul mood almost forgotten. "What've you done to your hair this time? Are those—_stripes?_"

"Yeah." Tonks seemed rather pleased with herself. "Remus bet me I couldn't _do_ stripes. It's taken me a few days to work it out, but I've got it now!" She scanned the rapidly filling room, and her smile began to dim. "Where is he, anyway? Won't he be here for the meeting?"

"Not _tonight_," said Sirius, pointedly.

But Tonks only shook her head and looked puzzled.

Sirius stared. _She doesn't know._

This was not what he had been expecting, at all.

Well, then. It was past time she found out, now that she was a member of the Order—especially if Moony was starting to think of her as a friend.

He looked her straight in the eye and spoke, quietly but clearly. "It's full moon."

A long moment passed, and then another, until all at once her confusion gave way to shock.

"Remus is a _werewolf?_" she whispered, dropping down onto the worn wooden bench next to him.

Sirius nodded, carefully casual. "Since he was a little kid. Before I knew him."

"So _that's_ where—" Tonks blinked, still looking dazed. "I read about him in the _Prophet_ last year, when they wrote up your escape from Hogwarts. I knew his name was familiar when I met him, but I couldn't place it."

"Remus always tried to keep his condition as quiet as he could. Until that year he taught at Hogwarts, when Snape—" Sirius felt his scowl harden into a hostile sneer—"_accidentally_ leaked it to the students. Then the _Prophet_ picked it up." He sighed and rubbed his face with one bony hand. "He's been having an awful time supporting himself ever since, especially with the new anti-werewolf employment laws the Ministry put through."

"Oh," said Tonks, frowning. "That's why he doesn't have a job. I'd wondered."

Sirius watched his cousin stare into the fire. Her brows slowly drew together, and her mouth twisted into a scowl to rival his own. She looked rather fierce, frankly.

Moony would be devastated if this frightened her off, or made her angry with him. Which, surely, was why he hadn't _said anything_. Sirius was gripped by a strong urge to shake the man, but at the same time he did rather sympathise—

"I can't believe this." Tonks's hands clenched into fists, and she swung round to scowl at Sirius.

He swallowed.

"Remus is one of the nicest and cleverest blokes I've ever met. This is so _unfair!_"

"Yeah." Sirius started breathing again. _Good old Tonks._ "He'll never say a word, but it's a hard life he leads."

"And I've read—The transformation is said to be frightfully painful, isn't it?" Her frown was definitely a worried one this time.

He laughed, without humour. "That's something of an understatement."

Tonks winced.

Sirius gave her another bitter half-smile. "He's running the meeting tomorrow night for planning the Oxford reconnaissance mission. You're on that team, aren't you? Just you wait and see how rough he looks."

She nodded, biting her lip.

Then he shrugged, scowling again. "What makes it all that much worse is that Remus _hates_ to be seen right after full moons, before he's got his strength back. He doesn't mind me—we shared a dormitory at school, after all, and I've seen him in some pretty bad states—but he'd rather avoid feeling vulnerable in front of other people. And..." Sirius sighed. "Having to acknowledge his condition in public shames him more than anything." He shook his head, thumping the bench with his fist. "That meeting shouldn't even _be_ tomorrow night. Dumbledore should've given him another day to recover. But no, the ruddy Order always has to come first..."

Tonks's hair suddenly turned midnight blue.

Sirius roused himself from his sulk again and tugged at one of her dark locks. "Oi, peanut, what happened to the stripes?"

Her eyes were still worried, but now her jaw was set. "I'm saving them for Remus."

**o.o.o**

Back home in her flat after the meeting, Tonks pulled her Auror training manual off the bookshelf and opened it to Chapter Nineteen, "Recognising and Subduing Dark Creatures."

"_A transformed werewolf is a vicious creature, without a shred of human consciousness. It is driven by its very nature to attack humans; it is compelled to bite them, contaminating the innocent with its dreadful curse, or even to kill and eat them, feeding on their destruction. In human form, a werewolf may have a conscience, and may attempt to adapt to the laws and manners of human society, but this should not be taken for granted, as it is likely to be the exception rather than the rule. An Auror should never hesitate to subdue or incapacitate a werewolf if it exhibits the merest hint of aggressive behaviour, whether it is transformed or not."_

The manual seemed determined to ignore the possibility that a werewolf might have kind eyes and a warm, quiet smile. Or an unexpectedly wicked sense of humour. Or a fondness for exotic tea.

"_For some hours after moonset, a werewolf is weakened and distracted, being in considerable pain from its return to human form. This provides an unparalleled opportunity to overpower the creature before it can commit any further harmful acts."_

Tonks thought of Sirius, exuding worry and belligerent protectiveness, and of Remus, undergoing—whatever it was he was undergoing.

The cold silvery moonlight inched a long way across the floor before she finally fell asleep that night.

**o.o.o**

Very early the following morning, Sirius sat at the kitchen table, paging blearily through a crumpled copy of the _Evening Prophet._ If Moony wouldn't let him be company for the transformation, the least he could do was haul himself out of bed—ungodly hour be damned—and make sure the stubborn git ate a decent breakfast afterward.

The fireplace flared green. Remus stumbled out of the Floo, catching hold of the back of a chair just before he lost his balance altogether.

"Morning, Padfoot," he rasped.

His gaunt, weary face betrayed a peculiar mixture of shame, guilt, and gratitude that transported Sirius straight back to post-moon mornings at Hogwarts.

"All right, Moony?" Sirius got carefully to his feet and started toward him. "Need patching up at all?"

Remus dropped heavily into the chair, leaning his head on his hands and closing his eyes. "I've already taken care of things," he said, in a raw hoarse voice that made Sirius wince in sympathy. "It wasn't too bad this time."

Sirius frowned, resting a hand briefly on Remus's shoulder—_not too bad this time_ still didn't look very good—but he kept his voice light. "Then I'll have breakfast ready in a minute." He tapped a cast-iron frying pan with his wand to make it sizzle, and cracked a few eggs into it. "Tea?"

"Better give the tea a miss, thanks. I should get as much sleep as I can before the meeting tonight."

Sirius floated two plates heaped with eggs, sausages, and toast over to the table, followed by two tall glasses of iced pumpkin juice. "Look, Molly's even made us some strawberry jam."

"Thank you, Padfoot." It took visible effort for Remus to lift his head and sit up straight, but he turned to his breakfast with gratifying enthusiasm. The hot food did seem to revive him a little.

"How did things go last night?" he asked after a while, his voice less rough now.

"Snivellus brought information about a Death Eater plot to recruit followers in Magical Law Enforcement," said Sirius, rolling his eyes, "so Arthur, Kingsley, and Tonks are going to be watching out for suspicious activity at the Ministry. And the team for your Oxford mission will be Moody, Tonks, Hestia, and Bill."

"Tonks keeps busy," Remus observed, spreading jam on a piece of toast. He grinned a little, as if to himself, and the lines of pain around his mouth eased.

"She was asking where you were," said Sirius offhandedly.

The grin evaporated; the lines returned. Remus slowly set the toast down on his plate. "She didn't know?"

"No." Sirius gave him a pointed look. "So I told her why you weren't there."

"Of course." Remus swallowed. "I had—wondered, whether she knew." His voice was even, measured. "Now she does."

There was another reason why Moony liked to keep to himself after a transformation, one that Sirius hadn't mentioned to Tonks. The exhaustion made it harder for him to keep that damned mask of his in place. Sometimes, emotions leaked.

But the bleakness that settled over Remus now was stark enough to surprise even Sirius.

So he grinned, and winked. "You've nothing to worry about, Moony. Tonks sounded like she wanted to go out and knock someone over on your behalf."

"We'll see," was all Remus said, eyes firmly fixed on the piece of sausage he was pushing around his plate with his fork.

He didn't, Sirius thought, look particularly reassured.

**o.o.o**

Tonks arrived at Grimmauld Place a few minutes early for the meeting that evening. The kitchen was empty except for Molly and Bill, who were poking at a small cauldron of what smelled tantalisingly like lamb stew—and Remus, who seemed to have sat down in front of the fire and fallen asleep. He was snoring quietly, tilting a bit sideways in his chair.

Tonks tiptoed carefully over to where Molly and Bill were working. "Can I help?" she whispered.

"Erm." Molly hesitated. "I think we're about finished, dear. Why don't you sit down and have a cup of tea while we wait for Hestia and Alastor?"

"Yeah, go on," said Bill, giving her a nudge with his elbow. "The stew'll be better without broken crockery in."

Tonks stuck her tongue out at him, but she took the cup of tea Molly handed her and slid into a seat at the table. As she sipped, she watched Remus out of the corner of her eye. Sirius was right—the lines of his cheekbones were sharp, and his face was grey with exhaustion. He didn't seem to be in any shape to sit through a meeting, let alone run one.

She wondered if Sirius had told Remus about their conversation last night.

Just then, Sirius himself came clattering down the stairs. He shot Tonks a meaningful look (she nodded back) and went over to shake Remus firmly by the shoulder. "Moony, old mate, it's almost seven."

Tonks caught her breath as the nickname she'd grown used to hearing suddenly made a lot more sense.

Remus opened his eyes at once, his expression surprisingly alert, although he looked a bit embarrassed at having fallen asleep. "Thanks."

Sirius nodded. "Right, well, see you later." He turned to head back upstairs.

"Wait," Remus called after him, "aren't you staying for the meeting?"

"No point, is there," Sirius growled over his shoulder. "I can hardly contribute to a reconnaissance mission when I can't leave the ruddy house."

"You could lend your considerable intellect to help us work out the plan," said Remus sharply, but there was no response except for the sound of footsteps receding overhead.

Tonks bit her lip, but she knew that if even Remus couldn't talk Sirius out of a sulk, it was a lost cause.

Shaking his head, Remus pushed himself up out of his chair. He stretched his shoulders gingerly—wincing as he did so—and came over, limping slightly, to join the others. "That smells wonderful, Molly. Is there anything I can do?"

"Thank you, dear, but we've almost finished," said Molly again, eyeing his haggard appearance. "Here, why don't you have a cup of tea and keep Tonks company?" She patted him fondly on the arm and pressed a steaming mug into his hands.

Remus thanked her for the tea and sat down again—at the table this time, next to Tonks. She heard the tiniest of sighs as he took his weight off his feet.

"Hello, Tonks. Don't mind Sirius; he's just worried about Harry's disciplinary hearing at the Ministry this week."

He smiled, then, but it was a hesitant shadow of the warm grin he usually had for her, and his eyes were guarded.

So Sirius _had_ told him that she knew.

It was hardly surprising that Remus didn't seem thrilled—it was quite a private thing that her cousin had gone and spilled to her last night, without Remus's permission. On top of that, Sirius had said that Remus hated to be seen right after a transformation, and here she was, gawking at him.

"Wotcher." Tonks tried to smile back. She managed to meet his gaze once, but then she reddened and looked away. She felt wrong-footed and awkward, as though she'd been caught snooping in his diary. Conversation with Remus had always been easy, but now his obvious discomfort was making her nervous, and for once she had absolutely no idea what to say.

She looked up at him again, just in time to see his face change—it went very still. His smile turned wry, and his eyes settled into a mild, rather resigned expression.

But not before she'd caught a clear glimpse of the festering shame and the bleak, lonely sadness that his careful smile was obviously meant to hide.

Tonks sat, frozen, watching him fold into himself and shut her out. _Helga's leather corsets. _

Remus thought she _minded_ that he was a werewolf. That's what this was all about.

Her heart twisted.

All she could think was how badly she wanted to see him grin at her again. She didn't _ever_ want to be the one who made him look that sad.

"Remus." His arm was leaning on the table, near his mug of tea, and she reached over to rest her hand lightly on his wrist.

He started at her touch, and looked up, confusion and a certain something that could almost be called vulnerability now visible in his expression.

Tonks swallowed a lump that had risen in her throat and smiled right into his eyes. "I'm glad to see you're up and about."

"Oh." He stiffened, a little, but he didn't look away. "Thank you."

She relaxed. Her grin widened, and her eyes narrowed. "Because you _owe_ me."

His eyebrows went up in surprise, but she'd startled a half-laugh from him. "For what?"

"Just watch." She concentrated, very hard, on _purple_ and _green_ and _one inch wide._

"Stripes! You've done it!"

Tonks looked up to find a delighted smile in those brown eyes, and it was her turn to laugh, from sheer relief. "Yeah. So you have to help me the next time I'm on washing-up duty. Again."

"I concede." Remus grinned at her, his old warm and easy grin at last. "But I'm not giving up, you know. I'll stump you yet."

Tonks poked him, gently but emphatically, on the arm, and was rewarded beyond all expectations when a flash of pleased surprise lit his face. "You just keep trying," she challenged, "and I'll keep winning. That suits me fine—I hate washing up."

Hestia and Mad-Eye came in, then, and Molly bustled over to the table with the stew.

But Tonks rather thought, from the way his smile lingered, that Remus understood what she had really meant to say.

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's notes:** The first and third scenes of this chapter are based on two ficlets posted at the **rt_challenge** community on LiveJournal in January 2007, called "Stripes" and "Revelations".


	5. Moon by Moon

**~ _5_ ~**

**Moon by Moon**

_September_

Sirius had set three separate knives to chopping vegetables. He was presiding somewhat smugly over the chopping block—feeling like an orchestra conductor, with his wand for a baton—when the Floo turned green.

"Sirius? You there?"

His cheery little cousin's spiky head appeared in the flames.

Sirius waved his wand to pause the chopping and swung around with a grin. "Hullo, peanut."

"Is it all right if I come through for a minute?" Tonks peered up at him, oddly intent. "Just for a minute."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Of course. You know you're welcome here anytime you can stand a little bachelor company."

Tonks pulled her head out of the fire and came spinning through the Floo out onto the hearth. She was holding a heavy-looking crockery bowl with both hands, and Sirius winced when she stumbled. But she slapped a Hover Charm on the dish even before she'd grabbed at the back of a chair to steady herself, and the bowl waited patiently in midair for her to catch her balance. Once she had found her feet, she floated it deftly over to the table, trying to look nonchalant.

Sirius had a sneaking suspicion that Tonks had had a lot of practice casting Hover Charms.

"What've you got there?" The bowl was covered with a tea towel, but when he sniffed he caught a whiff of cinnamon and something sweet. "Smells nice."

"Erm." Tonks tugged at a tangerine-coloured spike of hair and gave him a sideways grin. "I made some pumpkin trifle, so I thought I'd bring it by."

"You _cook?_"

"Yes, I _cook._" She crossed her arms over her T-shirt, which had a charmed tie-dye pattern that was swirling in a slow spiral (making Sirius feel slightly dizzy, and he hadn't even been at the firewhisky yet). "Just because I'm no good at householdy spells doesn't mean I'm no good with _food._ It's completely different. Cooking is like—it's like _Potions._ I have a N.E.W.T. in Potions, you know. Had to, to be an Auror."

Sirius held up his hands in surrender. "Right, sorry—I'm sure you're a brilliant cook." Still, he couldn't help smirking at the smears of flour that she had all over her T-shirt and jeans, and even in her hair.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Well, I'll see you at the meeting on Monday, then." She turned back to the fire and took a pinch of Floo powder from the urn on the mantlepiece.

Sirius blinked. "Leaving already?" He'd expected she would at least stay long enough to have a drink with him. It was lonely in this great gloomy house with Remus upstairs sleeping off the transformation, especially now that all the children were back at Hogwarts and even Molly and Arthur had gone home to the Burrow. "You must be a _marvellous_ cook. Really."

She sniggered a little, but she shook her head. "I only came to leave the trifle, so now I've done that, I'll go on home." Her expression sobered. "I remember what you told me last month, that Remus doesn't really like to have people see him before he's had a chance to recover from the moon. I just thought a pudding might cheer him up a bit. I saw how much he liked Molly's pumpkin trifle after a meeting, once."

Sirius could only approve; Moony needed more people looking after him. "I'm sure he'll enjoy it." He leered theatrically at the covered bowl. "I'll even save him a bite."

She laughed again, eyes crinkling, and whacked him on the arm. "You'd better, you git."

Tonks disappeared back into the Floo, and Sirius returned to conducting his vegetable-chopping ensemble until he had the whole stew bubbling properly.

Slow, careful steps sounded on the stairs.

"You're just in time," Sirius called out. "Stew's almost done."

"I could tell." Remus appeared around the doorframe, smiling, although his voice was awfully hoarse. "Smells good."

"And look at this," Sirius added, watching Remus lower himself shakily into a chair at the table. "Tonks made us a pumpkin trifle for afters. Seems to be edible, even."

"Oh?" Remus brightened, but he didn't look at the trifle at all. He looked around the kitchen, and then glanced toward the stairs. "Is she here for supper, then?"

"No, of course not." Sirius blinked. "She's a bright one—she's caught on that you like a little privacy right after the moon."

"Oh," said Remus again. "Of course." He smiled a little, and this time he did lift the tea towel to peek in at the trifle. "It was awfully kind of her to bring this over."

But now he looked, Sirius thought, a little greyer than he had before.

That was certainly interesting.

**o.o.o**

_October_

Tonks popped out of the Floo to find Sirius busy cooking once again.

Usually it was Remus who cooked, she'd found, now that the Weasleys had moved back home—though sometimes Molly still came by to fix a meal, especially if there was going to be an Order meeting. When Sirius was left to fend for himself, he tended to slap together some kind of sandwich, wash it down with firewhisky, and call it supper.

But tonight was the night after the full moon.

Sirius looked up from a half-dozen browning pork chops and smirked at her. "Hullo, peanut! Did you bring us a trifle?"

"Of course not." She smirked back, setting a covered plate carefully on the table. "Chocolate cake this time."

Grey eyes gleamed. "I'll make short work of that."

"You'll do no such thing." Tonks swatted the hand that was lifting up the cover to peek at the cake. "It's for Remus, and you know it."

Sirius snorted.

"How is he?" she asked, in a small voice. For the rest of the month, Remus was an Order colleague, her favourite partner for missions, a secret subtle prankster—someone who was strong and clever and witty, and bloody well could have been an Auror for real. But when the full moon came, she remembered how it made him look afterward, and she worried.

"Stay for supper and see for yourself." Sirius smirked at her again and started a small mountain of apples peeling.

Tonks stared. Her cousin must be joking.

"Tell him I've asked after him," she said. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"Somewhere else to be?" Sirius floated the peeled apples into a bowl and aimed a powerful Roasting Charm at them.

"Hardly," she laughed. Between her job and her Order work, there wasn't much time left for a social life. "But—"

"Hello, Tonks," sounded hoarsely from behind.

She turned around quickly enough to lose her balance, but managed to grab the back of a chair and avert disaster. "Wotcher, Remus."

This was why she worried. She had seen him once before on the evening after a full moon, and it had been impossible to forget just how grey and gaunt it left him, how deep were the lines etched into his face by exhaustion and pain.

How much nearer the surface were the emotions that he normally kept so deeply buried.

This time, though, what leaked through wasn't loneliness or shame. He smiled at her, a bright blazing smile that lit him up from inside and stole her breath.

"You'll stay for supper, won't you?" he rasped.

"Told you so," Sirius muttered from right behind her.

"Ta," she said, feeling a bit like she'd been spinning too fast on her broom and hadn't got her bearings after landing, but she met Remus's smile with one of her own. "Those pork chops are awfully tempting."

Remus was quiet at supper, and he kept very close to the fire, but he ate two whole pork chops and two slices of chocolate cake. And he grinned often at the silly banter that Sirius kept launching and Tonks parried as well as she could. Still, by the time the table was cleared away and the dishes were done, Remus had started to sag a little in his chair.

Tonks raised an eyebrow at Sirius, wondering whether it was time for her to take her leave.

"Right, then, Moony," said Sirius expansively, "I think it's time we gave Tonks here some education in the ways of the world."

"Really?" Tonks would have poked Sirius in the arm for his patronising attitude, but the laughter that displaced the exhaustion in Remus's eyes was enough to stop her, so she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "What sort of education did you have in mind?"

Sirius cleared his throat and pulled out his wand with a dramatic flourish. "_Accio_ Exploding Snap cards!"

A charred and battered deck came flying down the stairs and into his waiting hand.

"We're going to play Exploding _Snap?_" Tonks would never have expected Sirius to suggest something so _tame._

But now her cousin was staring at the cards in his hand with an oddly pained look on his face, and Remus had reached over to rest a hand on his elbow.

"Not Exploding Snap," he said quietly to Tonks. "Exploding Poker. Muggle poker with Exploding Snap cards." His smile was sad now. "We always used to play it in the hospital wing or the dormitory, after moons—after the others had worked out my secret, that is." He gave the bony elbow a squeeze. "It's all right, Padfoot. Let's play something else. Three-way chess?"

"No," said Sirius stubbornly, his jaw set. "We'll play Exploding Poker. That rat isn't taking _this_ away from me." He cast a quick Shuffle charm, and the gleam of mischief returned to his eyes. "I'll lay the first wager: Losers take over washing dishes for the winner for the rest of the month."

It wasn't a late night—even this laughing, joking version of a post-moon Remus needed his sleep. So they wrapped things up after each of them had won a few times and collected juicy forfeits. Tonks was particularly pleased with the hand that had won her hot cocoa every evening for a week, not least because it would give her an excuse to spend time in this kitchen that had come to feel more like home to her than her own small flat.

Remus wished her a good night, with one more incandescent smile, and started the slow process of hauling himself up three flights of stairs to his room. She watched Sirius watching him, with a sharp line between his eyebrows, and understood without having to ask that it was no good offering Remus a hand with the climb.

Instead, Sirius walked her to the front door and waited as she put on her pea coat and wrapped up in a long, lumpy purple muffler.

"Thanks for staying," he said, his voice unexpectedly earnest. "It was good for him."

"I was—" _honoured,_ she almost said, because the trust Remus had shown her in actually wanting to spend this difficult evening in her company had somehow shaken her a little—"glad to. It was fun."

"Come by after moons," said Sirius. "When you can. I'll be here, obviously—" he rolled his eyes—"but if there's someone else he's willing to have around, all the better. I don't like to think how many years went by where he was left alone to recover on his own."

"Yeah," said Tonks. She didn't like to think about that, either. "No worries. I'll make sure to come and help cheer him up."

In fact, starting tomorrow, she would pull as many strings as she could in the Auror Office to avoid ever being scheduled for a night shift on post-moon evenings.

**o.o.o**

_November_

Remus woke with a start, wincing at the sharp pains and tight stiffness in his back and limbs.

He must have been sound asleep for most of the day. The last purple streaks of sunset were already fading from the sky, leaving cold slate-grey clouds that promised rain before morning.

He pushed himself up and out of his thick cocoon of blankets until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, shivering, hissing when new scabs pulled and stung as he moved. His head ached, and his thoughts looped sluggishly even after all the sleep he'd apparently had. Most months, his throat would be somewhat sore after a night spent howling, but this time it felt as though it had been scraped raw.

It had, he acknowledged, been rather a bad moon.

That was hardly a surprise. It was always a bad moon when it fell this close to Hallowe'en.

This year, it hadn't been only his own grief he'd had to face. Sirius had careened between raging around the house blasting things with his wand, and drinking himself into a stupor, and—perhaps the worst of all—sitting huddled in a ball on the ratty carpet of the first-floor drawing room, muttering to himself or turning into Padfoot, and refusing to eat.

But now, Remus hoped, the worst might have passed. This morning, he'd been prepared to make do with some cold bread and cheese before dragging himself up to his room to sleep off the after-effects of the transformation, just as he always did when he lived alone. But Sirius was waiting for him in the kitchen, after all. The circles under his eyes were deeper than usual, it was true—but he had a fry-up ready on the table, and a pot of steaming tea.

For once, Remus was almost glad he was such a wreck after transformations, if it gave Sirius a reason to pull himself together again.

And it was still working, it seemed. The aroma of Sirius's signature prop-Moony-up stew came drifting enticingly upstairs from the kitchen. That was probably what had pulled Remus out of his sound sleep, in fact. His stomach growled, almost painfully—he had slept right through lunchtime, and it took more than one good hot breakfast to assuage the tearing hunger of a werewolf who hadn't hunted at the full moon.

Remus lurched stiffly to his feet, _Accio_'d a set of clean clothes from the wardrobe, and limped down the hall to the bathroom. As he savoured his shower, letting the steamy heat soak into his bones and ease some of the aches and chills, he tried very hard not to wonder if Tonks would stop in tonight. Just because she had come by on the night after the moon last month—and brought trifle the month before that—it most certainly did _not_ mean that she would waste another perfectly fine evening on a cranky fugitive and a broken-down werewolf. Especially since she knew how difficult Sirius had been to manage, this last week.

The water in the shower was always good and hot, thank Merlin, but the old Black house was, to put it mildly, _drafty_. Especially when one's physical and magical reserves were thoroughly depleted. Remus, making his way down too many flights of stairs, couldn't stop himself from shivering hard enough to rattle his teeth. At least the kitchen would be warm, with a roaring fire in the huge old-fashioned fireplace.

The kitchen _would_ be warm, which was far more than he could say for some of the places he'd spent post-moon evenings. There was a hot stew (smelling better every minute) waiting for him. And he wouldn't be alone, not with Sirius to feed him supper, and spend the evening with him, and remind him in a hundred small ways that he was more than just the wolf.

He was lucky, already, he reminded himself, finally reaching the bottom of the last flight of stairs and pausing to catch his breath. Luckier than he had been in years. He couldn't believe he had the cheek to even think of wishing for more—

"Wotcher, Remus!"

But there Tonks was, after all, sprawled in a chair at the long kitchen table, with a "Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle" T-shirt and her hair in neon-green dreadlocks. Her grin was cheery, even as her eyes were intent, taking in the lines on his face and the slight, pained hunch of his shoulders.

"Hello, Tonks." He tried not to wince at the roughness of his voice, so hoarse it was little more than a harsh whisper, but he hoped the smile he could feel spreading across his face would compensate. "Ready for another round of Exploding Poker?"

"Not half!" She pretended to glower at Sirius, who actually managed a creaky grin in return as he ladled stew into bowls. "There's no _way_ I'm going to lose the dishwashing wager this time."

Her smile made her dark eyes shine.

It didn't seem possible that it could grow even brighter, but when he smiled back, that was just what it did.

Remus didn't think he'd ever felt so warm after a moon in his life.

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's note:** This chapter is a revised version of a story that was posted at the **metamorfic_moon** community on LiveJournal in December 2011.


	6. The Things We Remember

**~ _6_ ~**

**The Things We Remember**

Remus found Sirius right where he'd left him two hours before—in the kitchen, tipping his chair back at a rather alarming angle as he pored over a stack of maps and reports of Death Eater activity from the first war.

"I remembered to get you some Stilton this time." Remus pulled a handful of tiny parcels out of his pocket and let them mushroom back to their rightful size with a tap of his wand.

"Ta." Sirius brought the front legs of his chair down with a crash and padded over. "Any crisps?" He rifled hopefully through the various bags and packages, generally getting in Remus's way, as he did after every shopping trip—it was a household ritual by now.

But then he stopped, his attention caught by a red striped bag with curly gold script across the front. "A tea shop? In Diagon Alley?"

"It's new—they had a good price on lapsang souchong," Remus started to explain, but Sirius opened the bag to peer inside and a frenetic jingling drowned out the rest of his words. Two small silver bells tied together with red ribbon came floating out of the bag, shaking themselves madly.

Then a manically cheerful voice filled the kitchen, loud enough to carry over the din of the jingling bells. "Season's Greetings from Terwilliger's Tea Shoppe! We stand ready to fulfill your every tea-related need! And let us suggest exotic imported teas, in lovely hand-crafted boxes, for everyone on your Christmas list! Yes, Terwilliger's is now open at number seventy-two, Diagon Alley, just in time for the Christmas shopping season!"

The bells crumpled into a red and silver heap on the table, and the sudden silence was deafening.

Christmas.

Remus had carefully avoided any reference to the approaching holiday in front of Sirius, even though the street lights and storefronts in Diagon Alley had been festooned with evergreens and holly for at least a fortnight, and Muggle London was full of fairy lights and elaborate window displays.

It was easier all around not to mention it.

After all, Remus reasoned, what joy could thoughts of Christmas possibly bring to a man whose last happy one had been fifteen years ago, at the home of dear friends who hadn't lived to see another?

Surely Christmas would be even more painful for Sirius to face than it was for—

Remus squelched that line of thinking, which was hardly fruitful. He attempted a careful sideways glance, only to find shrewd grey eyes stealing a tentative look at him as well.

"Christmas, eh?" Sirius picked up the bells and gave them an experimental shake. "I hadn't realized. I'm a bit out of practice with all of that."

"Did you—" Remus swallowed. "In Azkaban. Did you know when it was Christmas?"

"Hell, no." Sirius laughed, a half-mocking laugh only slightly tinged with bitterness. "I was lucky if I knew what _season_ it was. And then the last two years, when I was on the run, I saw the decorations, but I never knew which day was actually Christmas. So this will really be the first one, since..."

"Right," said Remus quickly.

He watched as Sirius's gaze sharpened, taking on that keen expression that always made him feel completely transparent. He turned away, in a dogged attempt at self-preservation, pulling the tin of lapsang souchong out of the Terwilliger's bag and fussing with it.

"_You_ would have known what day was Christmas. Every year." Sirius sounded thoughtful.

"Mmm." Remus tapped the kettle with his wand and Summoned two large mugs from the cupboard. "Want to try some of this tea?"

"Eh?" Sirius blinked, successfully distracted. "Yeah, all right."

Remus reached up to drape the silver bells on their red ribbon over one of the chandeliers that hung above the long table. "I'm fascinated," he said dryly, "to see that someone's modified the Howler charm for nefarious advertising purposes."

He was rewarded with a barking laugh and a change of subject.

**o.o.o**

Tonks clumped merrily down the basement stairs at Grimmauld Place in her heavy dragon-hide boots, one hand skimming along the worn handrail for balance. She emerged into the kitchen, which always felt more welcoming than gloomy to her now—partly from Remus and Molly's tireless efforts at cleaning, and partly from sheer familiarity.

"Wotcher, Sirius. Remus."

"Hello, Tonks." Remus gave her a warm, if tired, smile. He set aside his _Daily Prophet_ and poured her a cup of tea. It smelled smoky, like lapsang souchong.

"What rubbish have you brought me this time?" Sirius drawled. He always pretended to be bored with the maps and documents she smuggled out of the Ministry for him, and of course he'd _rather_ be out doing something reckless, but Tonks suspected he was secretly glad to have a major Order project all his own.

"I've got copies of all the Auror reports from 1979 and 1980 that you asked for—" Then she laughed, blinking in disbelief. "What is _that?_"

A single red ribbon, with a silver bell on each end, hung down from one of the chandeliers.

"That is pitiful!" She fixed the occupants of the kitchen with a mock glare. "Surely you can get a little further into the Christmas spirit than this?" She aimed her wand at the chandeliers and shot holly garlands at them. "Christmas is magical!" she harangued, enjoying herself. "Christmas is a celebration! This is no time for half measures!"

And then Sirius caught her gaze._ Tread carefully,_ he telegraphed.

Puzzled, Tonks glanced at Remus. There was a small smile on his face, but his shoulders were as tense as she'd ever seen them, and the smile came nowhere near his eyes.

_Oh, bugger. _

She had learned quite a bit about Remus Lupin over the past few months, but she knew almost nothing about what he'd done in the long years between the loss of his friends and his return to Hogwarts. Sirius had told her that even he didn't know very much.

But right now, she was definitely getting the feeling that happy Christmases had been a little thin on the ground.

"Never mind all that," said Sirius hurriedly, "because _this_ Christmas will be the jolliest one this bloody house has seen in _years_. Centuries, even. Moony and I will have plum pudding and everything. And you'll stop by for a while on the day, won't you, peanut?"

Tonks felt a grin spread across her face. In a hidden little corner of her mind, Sirius was still her cooler-than-cool older cousin, and here he was, specially inviting her.

"Thanks. I will if I can." She sighed. "I'm pretty junior on the force, you know. Last year, I had to work a double shift on Christmas Day."

"Grim," Sirius allowed. "Almost as grim as Christmas in this place used to be. Sitting around all day in dress robes with stiff collars, being The Heir and letting all the nasty aunties kiss my cheek—blech."

"No presents?" asked Tonks, curling up in a chair at the table with her tea. It was indeed lapsang souchong, and it was rather good.

"Oh, we had presents after a fashion. But no Father Christmas, of course."

"Really?" Remus looked more curious than tense now. "I never knew that, Padfoot."

"It's not so surprising." Sirius shrugged. "Lots of pureblood families don't have Father Christmas, even ones that aren't as bollocksed up as mine was. He's a Muggle tradition, after all."

"Yeah," said Tonks, with a wry grin. "Mum flat-out refused to let me believe in Father Christmas. She says it's appalling to deceive children that way." That same little corner of her mind that still hero-worshipped Sirius suddenly let loose a wave of disappointment, much stronger than she would've expected. She was a grown woman, for Merlin's sake. "Dad used to tell me stories about when he was a boy, writing letters to Father Christmas, staying up late at night to try to see him arrive—it always seemed like a little piece of Muggle magic that I never got a chance to try."

She shook her head to dispel the melancholy mood, and saw Remus watching her, looking thoughtful and even a little sympathetic. She Metamorphosed a blush away. The absence of Father Christmas from her childhood really shouldn't matter, not anymore.

"We had Father Christmas, with a vengeance," said Remus. "My mum was a Muggle, you know, and she loved everything about Christmas." He was finally smiling for real. "One of my earliest memories is coming in from playing outside in the cold, finding the house all warm and full of candles and decorations, with everything smelling like cinnamon." His eyes had a faraway look. "Like the picture."

Tonks exchanged a glance with Sirius. Long-ago Christmas seemed to be safe enough conversational territory. "What picture's that?"

"Oh." Remus grinned at them, a little sheepishly. "It's just one of those silly associations that children make between unrelated things... Have you ever heard of Currier and Ives?"

Tonks was intrigued. "Muggle printmakers, weren't they? My gran had some of their prints."

He nodded. "Mum had a lithograph—only a modern reproduction, of course. But it showed a gaggle of children skating on a river right outside a lovely cosy farmhouse. The sun was setting, and there was snow all around, and you could just tell that those children were about to run inside and find biscuits baking, and hot cocoa, and someone to make sure they were warm and dry." He chuckled fondly. "It really wasn't a Christmas picture, but in my mind, it was wrapped up with Mum, and Christmastime, and the way it felt to wait for Father Christmas—sort of comfortable and exciting all at once."

Still smiling, he gazed into the flame of a thick candle that sat in the middle of the table, losing himself in old memories. Tonks found she was holding her breath, watching him. His face was open, completely unguarded. His smile showed no hint of restraint or reserve.

He looked so _young_.

This was, Tonks thought, the smile that belonged to Remus at sixteen, at twenty. Before he had lost everything.

When he had been younger than she was now.

Then Remus stood and went over to peer into the pantry, and the moment was gone. "We were going to have cold chicken for supper tonight, Tonks. Will you join us?"

"Ta," she said, happily. Much better to have supper here than alone in her flat.

They cleared the table of maps and files and set out plates of leftovers from a recent Order meeting.

"I imagine Harry will be spending Christmas at the Burrow," said Sirius, using a Slicing charm to detach a leg from the chicken.

Tonks bit her lip. She'd been afraid that something like this would come up. Sirius and Molly seemed to have some kind of competition going over who ought to be looking after Harry.

Remus shot his friend a swift glance across his mug of tea. "At least he won't have to stay at Hogwarts for his holidays this year," he said, carefully.

"Do you think—" Sirius actually sounded wistful. "Not for Christmas Day, of course, but maybe for Boxing Day—would Molly and Arthur bring him over here for a little while?"

"That's a good idea." Remus grinned. "I'll talk to Molly about it the next chance I have."

"Are you two giving Harry anything for Christmas?" Tonks helped herself to boiled potatoes.

"Yeah." Sirius was obviously very pleased with himself. "Moony's found an excellent set of Defence books. Perfect for that group Harry's leading at Hogwarts. We're giving it to him together."

Remus stiffened. "No—I thought we'd settled this. Harry's your godson, and it's your gold. The books are from you."

Sirius countered with a raised eyebrow. "We _have_ settled this, and your name _is_ going on the package. You were the one who spent a whole day in Flourish & Blotts, deciding which books were the very best." When Remus still looked obstinate, Sirius set down his fork and tried the wheedling tone that Tonks, personally, always found hard to resist. "Come on, Moony. Harry'll be disappointed if your name doesn't turn up on Christmas morning. Surely you don't want to let him down!"

Remus looked up from his dish of stewed pumpkin, honest surprise on his face. "Nonsense. Harry's hardly going to notice whether he gets a present from me or not."

"Of course he will," Tonks broke in, frowning. "He really admires you, you know. He's told me so himself."

Remus raised a dubious eyebrow, but after a long moment he nodded, looking uncomfortable. "All right. My name can go on the present from Sirius. I don't want Harry to be disappointed."

He sighed.

"But here's the thing about Christmas." He picked up a piece of bread and began to butter it, examining it intently. "I'm really...not in a position to be able to exchange gifts." Sirius started spluttering something about ridiculous bloody-minded independence and deserving a share of the Black family gold for all his work for the Order, but Remus was adamant. "I need you two to leave me off your lists." He looked up then and met their eyes, first Sirius and then Tonks. "No Christmas presents. Please." He turned away and carried his plate to the sink, the buttered bread forgotten. Tonks could see that his shoulders were rigid with tension all over again.

And she decided that she didn't care what he said.

If she could figure out a way to give him back the joy he'd clearly once found in Christmas, she was bloody well going to do it.

**o.o.o**

What with Arthur's injuries from Voldemort's snake, and the unexpected arrival of Molly and the children at Grimmauld Place, it was another week before Remus had time to go to Gringotts. Finally, on a chilly afternoon only a few days before Christmas, he opened his vault—well, it was his parents', really, but it had been left to him—and leaned in, running his hand fondly over a box of old books and a stack of family photograph albums.

In the deepest corner of the vault glinted a few piles of gold and silver coins. Most of the money was from the sale of his parents' house or from his Hogwarts salary, because his parents had had very little to leave him themselves. He was at pains to spend his savings as slowly as possible. If Umbridge had her way with her anti-Dark Creature legislation, he might never earn another Knut for the rest of his life.

His gaze lingered for a moment on the case of remarkably good French wine that someone had sent his father as a gift just before he died. Remus had kept it when he'd sold the house. He'd drunk one bottle with his friends in honour of his parents' memory; he'd given one to James and Lily when Harry was born; and he'd brought three to Hogwarts when he'd gone there to teach, one for Dumbledore, one for McGonagall, and one for Poppy Pomfrey. Now he considered taking a bottle back to Grimmauld Place for a Christmas toast. But really, there was already enough in the Black family wine cellar to keep a holiday party going for a very long time. And he might need to sell the rest of the case someday.

With a shake of his head, Remus turned to a small oaken chest. He opened it slowly and laid aside a few familiar curios and well-loved objects, pausing to touch the tiny box that held his parents' wedding rings. He soon found what he was searching for—a red velvet case trimmed with golden thread, oval in shape, just the right size to fit in the palm of his hand.

Somehow, the thought of a small pink-haired girl wishing she was allowed to believe in Father Christmas made his heart twist—even though he knew perfectly well that the small girl in question had grown up to be an Auror. A fighter. Tough as they come.

He simply had to do _something_ to make up for that long-ago disappointment.

"You'd like her, Mum," he said, into the dusty silence of the vault. "You'd want her to have it."

**o.o.o**

Both Order missions and Auror work seemed to get busier and busier after Arthur was attacked, so it wasn't until two days before Christmas that Tonks finally had a chance to go shopping in Muggle London. Now she was braving a cold, fitful rain to peer through the window of a cluttered poster shop. The clerk behind the counter had a safety pin through one ear, and his hair was dyed black on one side and iridescent purple on the other. She grinned, turned her own hair pink and spiky, and marched in.

The clerk smiled at her, adding a flirty wink. "Can I help you find something?"

"Actually, yeah." She leaned her elbows on the counter and tilted her head. "Do you have any Currier and Ives prints?"

He blinked, once, and then surveyed her pink hair, her clunky boots, her expertly ripped jeans, and the red wool coat she'd Transfigured from her Auror robes. "Currier and _Ives?_"

At his tone of disbelief, Tonks felt an sudden surge of protectiveness toward Remus—toward _Remus!_—one of the most competent and self-sufficient wizards in the entire Order. She knew at once that her reaction was silly. But all the same, her chin went up.

"It's for a friend. It means a lot to him."

"Sure," said the clerk smoothly, "we've got quite a few."

He led Tonks to the back of the store and gestured at a large rack of posters mounted on stiff white cardboard.

**o.o.o**

Remus spent most of Christmas Eve on a damp, chilly surveillance mission outside a dodgy second-hand shop in Liverpool. When he finally came back to Grimmauld Place, the ground floor and kitchen were dark and silent, but the sound of voices—and the occasional minor explosion—led him up the dimly lit staircase to the drawing room.

There he found a roaring fire in the grate, candles burning everywhere, and a ferocious game of Exploding Poker in progress. Ginny, eyes twinkling behind a fierce scowl that would rival Molly's, appeared to be winning by a generous margin. Ron dealt a card that made Harry's entire hand explode, and the two of them laughed and swatted at each other through a cloud of smoke. Hermione grinned a little at this, even though she was curled up in an armchair with a very thick book, pretending to ignore the antics of the card-players.

And Sirius was stretched out on the floor next to Harry, roaring with laughter and slapping one of the twins on the back. If it hadn't been for the ravages of Azkaban, he probably wouldn't have looked much older than Fred or George when he laughed like that.

Remus smiled at all of them from the darkness of the hallway. It was good to see that everyone was happy.

But it was late, and he was tired, and the one he'd been looking for wasn't there.

He turned away and retreated down the dark passage toward the library, laughter and good-natured jeers drifting faintly after him.

**o.o.o**

Tonks didn't get off work until after nine on Christmas Eve, and maybe it was a little late for a social call, but she couldn't resist stopping by headquarters to look for Remus. She simply couldn't wait any longer to give him her Christmas-present-that-wasn't.

She started off heading for the drawing room, where she could hear voices and laughter. But along the way, she saw a light in the library, so she paused just outside the doorway and peered in.

There sat Remus, in an armchair close to the fire. He was resting his head on one hand and staring into the distance. The firelight cast a glow of burnished gold over his features, picking out the silver threads in his hair, illuminating his eyes one moment and abandoning them to the shadows the next.

And what she saw in his eyes, when the firelight danced over them, cut Tonks to the core. It wasn't anything as acute as raw grief or angry frustration. It was something even harder to look at—a quiet, understated sadness that looked almost...well-worn.

Habitual.

Did he _always_ look like that when he was alone? Or was it special for Christmas?

Either way, it made tears prick at her eyelids.

Sirius had pulled her aside, that evening when she'd learned about the Currier and Ives print. "I don't think Moony's had a truly happy Christmas for a very long time," he muttered. "Let's make sure this one is a good one for him, all right?"

But now Sirius was all wrapped up in his godson. His delight at spending Christmas with Harry was wonderful to see, but it didn't seem to leave much room for thinking about Remus after all.

Molly had said something to Tonks recently, too. "Remus is looking awfully tired these days, don't you think, dear? I'd say he needs a warm jumper and a lovely Christmas dinner."

Except that between her concern for Arthur's injuries and her worry over Percy's persistent silence, Molly seemed to be in no shape to mother anyone. In fact, she seemed to be leaning on Remus rather heavily herself these days.

Practically everyone in the Order depended on Remus.

Who was there for _him_ to depend on?

_Me,_ thought Tonks, with the second unexpected flood of protectiveness toward her cousin's best friend in as many days. _You can count on me._

She tiptoed a few paces away from the library door and then returned, letting her boots clump a little this time. Now when she stuck her head into the library, Remus was sitting up straight and tall in his armchair, wearing his usual friendly smile. His eyes didn't even appear to be particularly guarded.

_So is that sadness always there somewhere, even when he's smiling?_

"Tonks!" His smile brightened, and he jumped to his feet, crossing the room to where she stood. "I was hoping I'd see you tonight. I wanted to give you this, before Christmas." He pulled something small out of his pocket. "Here."

Caught off guard, Tonks reached out automatically. The object he pressed into her palm was a little larger than an egg, and quite heavy for its size. The light from the gas lamps shone on red velvet, trimmed in gold.

She stared at Remus. Whatever this was, it was not inexpensive. "But—you said no presents—"

"Oh, don't worry—it's not a Christmas present." He shook his head with a quick apologetic smile. "It's not even new. It's only something of my mother's." But his warm brown eyes were alive with anticipation. "Go on, then, open the case."

There was a hinge on one edge, she saw, so she felt for a catch on the other side and released it. The two halves opened to show an exquisitely delicate painting—a diptych—done in jewel-bright enamels that glistened in the gaslight. The right half showed a kindly old Father Christmas in a gift-laden sleigh, crossing a sky sprinkled with stars. The left half showed his reindeer, tossing their horns and prancing as they flew. The images didn't move, but they didn't need to—they were full of life all the same.

"Now you'll have your very own Father Christmas," said Remus softly, "every year."

Wordlessly, Tonks stared at the lovely little thing, and then up at Remus again. Hadn't he sold off most of his family's belongings over the years? If he'd kept something as obviously valuable as this, it could only be because he loved it.

And now he was giving it to her.

Her confusion must have shown in her eyes, because Remus stiffened and looked away. "It's only a Muggle painting, of course," he said quickly. "It's nothing special. I only thought—Mum was very fond of this, and after what you said the other day—"

"No, no," she whispered. "It's—it's absolutely beautiful." He met her eyes again, looking almost shy and oddly hopeful, and she knew that she was about to crush something unexpected and fragile. "It's just—Remus, I can't let you give away something your mother loved. You should keep it yourself, to remember her by." She closed the case again and tried to place it in his hand.

"But I really want you to have it." He turned his wrist and covered her hand with his, gently curling her fingers around the plush velvet. "The way Mum loved this time of year—if she knew you'd never had a chance to believe in Father Christmas, she would have given this to you in a heartbeat." He smiled down at her. "I have other things to remember my mother by, but if you don't take this home with you, _you_ won't have any Father Christmas at all. And I hate to think of that."

Tonks swallowed. No matter what he said, how could she possibly take something so special away from this man who had so little?

Watching her wrestle with indecision, Remus tensed again, and when he spoke, his voice was so low that she had to strain to hear it. "Don't you see? This is one of the things that makes Christmas so difficult. There are so many times I want to give something to someone, and I don't have the means to do it. This one time, I can." His eyes were very bright. "Tonks, please—I want you to have this. Let me give it to you."

Tonks took a deep breath and nodded, her eyes never leaving his.

Maybe accepting something could be a kind of giving, sometimes.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll keep it very safe."

His slow, warm smile was yet another gift.

"May your dreams tonight be filled with flying reindeer." He gave the velvet case in her hand one last affectionate pat. "Happy Christmas, Tonks. Good night."

"Remus, wait!" She caught him by the arm as he made to walk past her.

He turned back, brow furrowed in concern.

She laughed at his expression. "It's just that I have something for you, too." She reached into the deepest inside pocket of her Auror robes and brought out a matchbook-sized parcel wrapped in brown paper. She tapped it with her wand, enlarging it until it was nearly a metre across.

"Tonks." His shoulders went rigid again. "We said no Christmas presents."

"After what you just gave me, Remus Lupin, I did _not_ hear you say that!" She held the parcel out to him and tried the excuse she'd practised on the way over. "Besides, it's not a Christmas present. You see? It isn't even wrapped in Christmas paper." She smiled at him around a lump in her throat. _Take it. Please trust me._ "All I'm giving you is a memory."

Remus reached out for the large flat parcel and slowly pulled the brown wrapper off. He stared at the reproduction lithograph, running a finger over the farmhouse, the sunset, the skaters on the river.

"That's the one." He looked up again, eyes still wide. "That's the very picture. How on earth did you find it?"

"Half an hour in a Muggle poster shop was all it took." Tonks grinned, enjoying his surprise. "You described it quite thoroughly, you know."

He shook his head, rendered speechless.

"And you'll keep it, won't you?" she asked softly. "Because it's not a Christmas present. And because you understand what it's like to _want_ to give something to someone."

As she had intended, there was really nothing Remus could say to that.

She held her breath, watching him inspect every inch of the scene in the poster, and was rewarded with the smile that turned him young again.

"I should be going—I have an early shift tomorrow." She held her own little Father Christmas very carefully in both hands, the velvet case soft against her palms. "Happy Christmas, Remus."

"It—is," he said, blinking at her over the top of the poster. The surprise in his voice made her heart ache.

But the soft wonder in his eyes made her want to raise a cheer.

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's note:** This chapter is a revised version of a story that was posted at the **metamorfic_moon** community on LiveJournal in January 2008. [August 2013: Small edits made to bring the story into compliance with the new information about Remus's parents released at Pottermore.]


	7. Words Unspoken

**~ _7_ ~**

**Words Unspoken**

"Oh, bloody _hell_."

Tonks crashed through the living room, knocking a pile of parchments to the floor. Nobody ever buzzed her flat unless she was already late for something.

Muttering more curses, she pressed her wand to the intercom. "Hello! Who's there?"

"Your mother."

Tonks closed her eyes. This was just getting better and better.

"I'm on my way out," she said, carefully. "But do you want to come up for a minute?"

"That would be lovely!" The sarcasm was not obscured by the intercom.

Tonks cast the charm that would release the entrance door down in the foyer and vented a deep, frustrated sigh, succumbing to the temptation to hide her face behind her hands. But then she gave herself a quick shake and pointed her wand at the snowdrift of top-secret documents she had just sent sprawling. After a false start or two, she succeeded in Banishing them, along with a pile of clean (...she thought) laundry, to the bedroom, just as a brisk knock sounded at the door.

She pulled it open. "Wotcher, Mum."

"Hello, Nymphadora."

Her mother was as elegant and poised as always, although the smile she wore was slightly brittle.

"You're really on your way out? Can't you chat for a few minutes?"

Tonks swallowed. "I have a shift." Which was true enough.

"You're going to work in _that?_" Mum raised her eyebrows at the ripped jeans and black dragonhide jacket.

Tonks shrugged. "Surveillance." And it was—only, not for the Aurors.

"Nymphadora—" A flash of hurt surfaced in Mum's grey eyes. "You're never here when I Floo, and you never come for Sunday lunch any more. I feel I hardly know you these days."

_You don't. And I can't even tell you why.  
__  
I'm sorry._

"I've really got to go, Mum. I'm about to be late." She bit her lip. "I'll come for lunch this Sunday, all right? I promise."

"We'll look forward to it," Mum said, stiffly.

Tonks followed her mother out of the flat, locking the door behind them. "My love to Dad, yeah?"

She stared at her boots as she spun in place and Disapparated. That was easier than looking her mother in the eye.

**o.o.o**

When Tonks finally Apparated into the small forest clearing that was their planned meeting point, Remus was already there. Naturally. He'd probably never been late for anything in his life.

She couldn't decide if it was better or worse that Remus was her partner for this mission. Of all the members of the Order, he was probably the least likely to be annoyed at her for being slightly behind schedule. But on the other hand—somehow, being less than perfectly competent stung the most when Remus was the one who saw her.

"Sorry I'm late," she muttered, Metamorphosing away the blush she could feel trying to spread across her face. "Something came up just as I was trying to leave."

"Not at all. We're here in plenty of time," said Remus easily. "Hello, by the way." The smile he had for her was just as warm as always—he looked, if anything, happy to see her, and that warmed _her_ right through.

"Wotcher." She managed a sheepish grin.

"Macnair's hunting lodge is just through there." Remus gestured toward a path that wound out of the clearing and was soon hidden from view, even by the bare winter trees, as the forest thickened. "According to Severus's report, we should have a couple of hours before the Death Eaters' meeting starts."

They crept through the wood, casting spell after spell to check for danger, but all they found was one simple Monitoring Charm that was easy to confuse.

"Severus was right," said Remus, raising an eyebrow. "There's almost no protection here at all. I suppose they think this location is too remote for anyone to find."

"Lucky for us," said Tonks, crossing her fingers just in case.

She wished they could set a couple of the Weasley twins' Extendable Ears at strategic points in the hunting lodge, but it was too risky; even Disillusioned, the Ears might be discovered. At least she and Remus would be able to see who came to the meeting, and if there were any new Death-Eater recruits, they might be able to identify them.

The two of them explored the terrain all around the hunting lodge. At the edge of the clearing, off to one side, was a particularly promising thick, tangled thornbush.

"There's our spot, I reckon," said Tonks.

Remus nodded. "An excellent choice."

They settled down behind the thornbush. Tonks propped her back against a tree and surgically removed a few small branches from the bush until she had a secret but unobstructed view of the path through the wood and the entrance to the lodge.

Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Wait, and remember how hurt Mum had looked.

"Tonks?"

She blinked. Remus was holding a battered Muggle vacuum flask in one hand and trying to pass her a tin cup of hot tea with the other.

"Oh," she said, hiding another blush as she took the cup from him. "Ta." She sniffed at the smoky flavour that wafted up, along with the steam. "It's that nice lapsang souchong, isn't it?"

"From my Christmas stash." Remus raised his own cup in salute.

They sipped. The tea tasted as nice as it smelled.

But it didn't take long for Tonks to start worrying again, staring across her teacup at her knees.

"Erm." Remus broke the silence again, with a rather uncharacteristic lack of eloquence. "Nymphadora?"

"Don't call me Nymphadora," she said automatically, but she couldn't help the shadow of a grin tugging at her lips as she turned to face him. She'd begun to find she didn't mind that name quite so much when he was the one who used it.

"Are you all right?" Remus started to reach out toward her, but then he dropped his hand and wrapped it around his teacup instead.

She felt oddly disappointed.

But he was still looking at her, carefully, with the full weight of his attention. And that made her shiver.

What was _wrong_ with her today?

"You're awfully quiet." Remus leaned toward her a little, drawing his eyebrows together. "You're not truly worried about being a couple of minutes late, are you? We left ourselves a two-hour buffer before the meeting. One or two minutes couldn't possibly make any difference."

"No." She tried a smile. "I _am_ sorry I was late. But I know it doesn't really matter all that much."

Remus nodded, but he was still watching her, and the kindness, the _warmth_ in his eyes brought a lump to her throat.

"It's just—it's my parents," she said, the words spilling out. "There's so much I can't tell them—about the Order, about Sirius. I'm actually avoiding them, these days, because it's so hard to know what to talk about. And Mum's noticed, and it's hurt her feelings." She laughed, humourlessly. "That's _why_ I was late. Because I had to ignore her questions and walk away when she wanted to know why I haven't been visiting."

Tonks clamped her mouth shut, wincing. _Merlin, now I'm whinging like a homesick schoolgirl._

She looked sideways at Remus, hiding her face behind the dark-brown hair she'd chosen today for camouflage. "Only it's stupid, really, to worry about something like that, when we've got _important_ things to think about." She waved an arm in the general direction of the hunting lodge, and managed a grin, although she could tell it was a rather stiff one. "Sorry for venting at you."

"But it's not stupid. Not in the least."

She blinked and looked up at him again, surprised by the steel in his voice.

He held her gaze. His eyes were every bit as open and unguarded as they were after moons, when he was too exhausted to keep up his usual careful reserve. But surely that wasn't the case now.

Surely—he was deliberately letting her in.

Tonks swallowed.

And then he reached out again, only this time, he didn't stop halfway. He curled his fingers around hers, where her hand rested on her knee.

His hand was warm, even on this chilly day. His fingers were strong, and rough-skinned, and impossibly gentle all at once.

She shivered again.

"Your instincts are spot-on," he said. "You're right to be wary of secrets. They—build walls."

Tonks drew a quick breath as it dawned on her what Remus must be thinking about. A boy with a secret as big as lycanthropy would have had a lonely childhood, indeed.

All she could do was tighten her fingers around his.

His hand squeezed hers back. "Even though you can't tell your parents about the Order, don't let that keep you away from them altogether. You don't want to wake up one day and find you've drifted too far apart to rebuild what you once had."

She watched his face change, then, saw the pain that darkened his eyes.

_Of course._

It wasn't only his childhood that Remus was remembering.

Sirius had told her, once, that what went wrong when the Marauders stopped trusting each other had itself started with harmless secrets, rooted in pride and shame. And there were twelve more years after that, after James and Lily died and Sirius was thrown into Azkaban, when Remus had been left alone with his secrets again.

Tonks blinked, hard.

"You've had to keep a lot of secrets, haven't you," she whispered. "All your life."

He stiffened.

She bit her tongue, silently cursing herself for spoiling this unexpected gift of trust. There was no faster way to send Remus back behind his polite, careful mask than by asking personal questions.

Except that this time, all he did was to take a deep breath and smile at her. A sheepish, crooked smile that made something thump in the pit of her stomach.

"Sometimes I've had friends to share my secrets," he said. "That makes all the difference in the world. And that's what we've got again now, all of us in the Order."

Tonks found herself itching to run a fingertip over that crooked smile, to brush her palm against the faint trace of stubble she could see on his cheek in the weak winter sunlight, to touch the greying brown hair that curled against his collar and see if it was really as soft as it looked. Instead, she clutched the tin cup of lapsang souchong that he had brought for her and tried to remember to keep breathing.

His thumb scuffed across her knuckles, and he gave her hand another quick squeeze before letting go.

She shivered yet again, feeling elated because he'd touched her, and bereft because he'd stopped.

And she understood, finally, what was wrong with her today.

Remus visibly shook off his melancholy mood. "So, will you go and see your parents soon?" His smile was a mischievous challenge now.

"Oh, I will." She grinned at him, as cheerily—as _normally_—as she could. "I've already promised them I'll be there for Sunday lunch."

"I'm glad." Remus cast a Warming Charm on his tea and sipped at it again. "And I know it's tricky to manage, but do tell them whatever you can about how you spend your days. It's best not to keep any more secrets than you absolutely have to."

He was right, of course.

Only, now Tonks had yet another secret to keep. One she wouldn't have guessed even a quarter of an hour ago—although she rather suspected it may have been true for a while already.

**o.o.o**

"Feel like a few rounds of Exploding Poker before you go, peanut?"

It hadn't been a full Order meeting tonight, only Tonks and Remus debriefing Dumbledore and Mad-Eye about what they'd seen at the Death Eater gathering at Macnair's hunting lodge. But Tonks had stayed behind afterward, as usual. Now Sirius was making hopeful-puppy eyes at her across a glass of firewhisky.

"Why not?" said Tonks at once. She looked carefully to her right, where Remus sat scratching notes on a tattered piece of parchment. "Remus? You in?"

He looked up and smiled at her. "Of course."

Tonks reckoned she'd had a lot of practice deciphering Remus's smiles, by now. There was the quiet, kind smile with which he habitually greeted the world while revealing very little of himself. There was the swift smile that might cross his face when he was feeling uncertain. There was the extremely rare (and, she suspected, completely involuntary) flash of joy that lit him up from the inside like a flare. There was the one that hurt to see, the fixed, careful mask of a smile that slammed into place when he was particularly uncomfortable.

And then there was the smile he shared on purpose, the one that warmed his eyes—the one she'd been lucky enough to startle out of him first thing, when she'd made Sirius laugh at her first Order meeting. She hadn't realised, at the time, how unusual it was for Remus to show his real smile right away like that. But now she knew that he saved it for Sirius and Harry, for the Weasleys, for Hermione. Some of the other Order members got it occasionally—Dumbledore, Kingsley, Mad-Eye, McGonagall.

He gave it to her, too. Every time she saw him.

Getting to see Remus's real smile was not a trivial thing.

Which was why Tonks felt more than a little selfish for having begun to wish he would give her a different kind of smile. One that was only for her.

"I'll deal," said Sirius, predictably.

"Think he's stacked the deck this time?" Tonks nudged Remus with her shoulder.

His warm smile washed over her again, laced with a spark of mischief. "Can't be. After the last time we played, I Charmed his cards to be impervious to cheating spells."

"Moony, you wound me!" Sirius clutched dramatically at his heart.

Tonks laughed.

Remus caught her eye, and the two of them laughed harder.

Her stomach thumped, in that new way that had become so familiar so fast, when she thought about how boyish—how carefree—he looked when he was laughing like that.

Merlin, she had it bad.

And she _didn't know how_ to flirt.

She hadn't been the least bit interested in that sort of thing at school; she'd just wanted friends, not awkward snogs in the corridors after curfew. And since starting with the Aurors, well—it was hard enough trying to prove herself, especially as a Metamorphmagus. There really wasn't time to muck about with flirting.

Which left her, now that it mattered, with absolutely no idea what to do.

"You going to fold there, peanut?" Sirius poked her shoulder.

"Not me," she sent back automatically, although she'd already forgotten what cards were in her hand. "I'll see your week of washing dishes and raise you a week of reading out loud—book to be chosen by the winner."

Then she went back to Remus-watching, as he peered carefully at his own hand.

He liked her. That, she was sure of—the fact that he let her have his real smile was proof enough.

Was there anything more?

If there wasn't, and she let it slip that she fancied him, that would be the end of their friendship. He would put up all his masks and walls, and never come out from behind them again.

There was nothing for it—she would have to wait, and watch, and see if the smile he had for her ever changed.

"Come on, Moony!" Sirius tossed back the rest of the shot of firewhisky he'd been nursing. "Are you wagering or folding?"

Remus threw down his cards in mock-disgust, pretending to grumble. Tonks touched his arm and let her fingers stay there a heartbeat longer than she would have done a week ago.

He grinned at her with the warm, casual grin of a good friend.

Tonks squared her shoulders and smiled brightly back, swallowing her secret again.

**o.o.o**

"More chicken, Dora?"

"Thanks, Dad. It's really nice." Tonks held up her plate, and her father guided another juicy slice onto it, along with a healthy scoop of jacket potatoes and another of stewed pumpkin.

"Be sure to leave room," he said, rather hypocritically. "There's sticky toffee pudding."

"Your father was even more inspired than usual in his menu-planning today," said her mother, with a pointed look. "Knowing you were coming for Sunday lunch. For a change."

Tonks suppressed a sigh. "It's been busy lately, that's all. I'll be able to come around more often now, I think."

Unless Mum went on driving her completely batty.

"Is everything going all right at work?" asked Dad. "Only, you've been a little preoccupied, even today."

"Erm," said Tonks.

She rather thought Remus had a point about not keeping any more secrets than was absolutely necessary. But, even so, what could she actually say? _I'm having my first-ever real crush, and it's on one of my best friends, who I know from a secret illegal society, which, incidentally, is protecting Sirius, who—by the way—is innocent._

Hardly.

And she certainly couldn't say, _I'm worried because this friend of mine also happens to be a werewolf, and it cheers him up when I visit after the full moon, but yesterday when I saw the Auror duty roster I found out that I won't be able to visit him this month, and just thinking about him looking disappointed when I tell him that breaks my heart._

"It's nothing big," she said at last. "I was just thinking about a friend who's not"—_who won't be_—"feeling so well, but with one thing and another I might not"—_won't_—"be able to visit to cheer him up."

"A friend?" asked Mum. "Someone we know?"

"Someone I work with," said Tonks. At least that one was easy. It wasn't her fault if her parents would assume she was talking about the Ministry.

"You could bake him something," Dad suggested—no surprise there. Tonks grinned.

"There's a crowd of us who get together some evenings after work," she said, hardly stretching the truth at all, "and I take along a pudding sometimes. So I suppose I could do that."

"Why not knit him something?" Mum raised an eyebrow. "A muffler, say, if he's not feeling well. You could put to use all that time your grandmother Tonks spent teaching you how to knit."

Tonks slowly put down her fork, feeling a smile break through. "That's a nice idea, Mum." Remus always seemed cold after moons. What if she did make him a thick, soft muffler? Something to warm him up.

Something he might wear close to his skin.

Tonks gave herself a mental shake, to stop _that_ train of thought before it rolled along too far. _Not at Mum's dinner table, for Merlin's sake!_

She looked along the table, from Dad, who was grinning away with his _proud of my Dora_ look, to Mum, who was actually looking mollified and even pleased now.

They wanted her to be their girl—to let them help her solve her problems. That was all it took to make them happy.

She could do this. She could come again for Sunday lunch, and tell them tiny pieces of the truth, and let them know she wasn't forgetting them.

That wouldn't be _so_ hard.

It was the secret she was keeping from Remus that was going to be the tough one.

**o.o.o**


	8. Unforeseen Attachments

**~ _8_ ~**

**Unforeseen Attachments**

Remus flicked his wand, the motion smooth and practised. His target, a completely defenceless potato, spun under the steadily hovering kitchen knife and shed its skin in one long, perfect curl.

Remus was quite familiar with potatoes.

Also with cabbages and carrots. Like the ones in the great pile on the counter, patiently waiting for their turn on the chopping board.

Large, tasty cuts of beef, however, he was rarely on speaking terms with. This was why he kept eyeing the oven warily, as though the enormous rib roast holding court in there might object to his company.

But Sirius had not been subtle that morning. "Moony, I've bloody well had it with that shoulder rubbish you're always dragging home. I swear, trying to chew through it makes me hungrier than I was when I started! Look, there's more than enough gold in my vault to feed the entire Order for years. _Use_ it. I want to eat something _nice_ for a change."

And so Remus had brought home a roast that cost about as much as he was used to living on for a whole week. But he had already decided not to worry about it. Sirius had every right to spend his gold on what he pleased.

Especially since there seemed to be more bad days than good ones for Sirius, lately.

At least today seemed to be one of the good ones.

Remus Levitated a small crowd of potatoes and sent them tumbling into a large cauldron that bubbled over the fire. Then he Summoned the pile of carrots and started the Peeling Charm going again. Cooking at Order headquarters was generally a large-scale affair, because you never knew who might turn up for supper. Like Tonks, for example. She seemed to stop by particularly often, and that was a lucky thing for the inhabitants of number twelve, Grimmauld Place—any room, even a damp mouldering one full of Dark objects, was brighter with her in it.

It had been a few days since her last visit, actually, so all the while Remus had been getting supper ready, he'd been half expecting to hear—

"Oh, _bugger!_"

Footsteps on the stairs turned into a jumbled sort of crashing noise, and then a final thump.

Remus grinned, waving his wand to slow a spinning carrot, and looking up just as a head of pink, spiky hair poked around the door into the kitchen.

As soon as Tonks saw him, a rosy flush stained her cheeks, although it took only an instant for her to collect herself and Metamorphose it away.

"Wotcher, Remus."

He wondered a little about the blush—she never used to pay her own clumsiness much mind, but lately she seemed to embarrass awfully easily. Still, her momentary flush was such a contrast to the rest of her deliberately nonchalant expression that he couldn't stop a chuckle from escaping.

Tonks pretended to scowl at him. "None of your smirking, Lupin. I've had a long day, and now I've got a bruise on my bum." But the carrot peel he flicked at her made her grin, and he knew she wasn't really cross.

He sent the carrots into the cauldron to join the potatoes. "I hope you're planning to stay for supper? There's plenty."

Her face lit up. Merlin, but he loved to see her smile like that. Something about it always lifted his own mood, too.

"If you lot don't mind! That roast smells divine." She came over to stand by him at the counter, where he was aiming a chopping knife at the heart of a cabbage. "Can I help?"

The warm touch of a hand on his arm made Remus grin again. One of the things he treasured most about Tonks's friendship was the way she took easy affection like that for granted, almost as though she didn't think he was any Darker than anyone else.

Now that she'd come this close, though, he could see how tired her eyes were. He was pretty sure she'd had a surveillance mission for the Order last night, before working a full Auror shift today. "Go sit down and have a rest." He made shooing motions at her. "This cabbage is the last of it. Sirius will be down soon, and then we can have supper."

"Okay—if you're sure there's nothing left to do." She curled into her usual chair at the table, looking contented.

Remus turned back to the cabbage with a small bemused shake of the head. Why on earth Tonks would choose to spend so much of her meagre free time with two entirely undesirable bachelors and a half-mad house-elf, not to mention enough mildew to turn your nose grey, was a mystery to him. He supposed she was determined to help cheer Sirius up—and for that, he was more grateful than he could say, because it generally worked, even these days—but she always seemed to treat her visits more like a night out than an obligation.

And he was pretty sure that if he were feeling as tired as she looked tonight, he wouldn't drag himself out of bed for anything he didn't _really_ enjoy.

Remus let the knife take one last chop before he stilled it and added the cabbage to the vegetables bubbling in the cauldron. Then he cast a Quick-Boil Charm to ensure that everything would be cooked through when the roast was done. He was just about to join Tonks at the table when more footsteps sounded on the stairs—too many to be Sirius.

"Hello!"

"Smells nice!"

"Is Mum here?"

"Only, Bill said she might be cooking for the Order tonight—"

"—and we wondered if we could pop in for supper."

Two identical red heads and two blindingly green dragon-skin jackets went a long way toward filling up the cavernous kitchen.

"Wotcher, George, Fred," said Tonks. She always seemed to know which twin was which right away, a feat that was beyond Remus even after being their teacher for a year.

He smiled at the unexpected visitors. "I'm the cook tonight, I'm afraid. It's tomorrow night your mother's meant to be here. But there's plenty of roast beef, and you're welcome to stay if you'd like." The twins were good company, and—despite the ugly confrontation when Arthur was attacked just before Christmas—they generally got on well with Sirius.

"Roast beef!" said Fred dreamily. "With Yorkies and gravy?"

"And roast potatoes, all brown and crispy?" George peered eagerly over Remus's shoulder.

"And a cauliflower cheese?"

"And mashed pumpkin?"

"Erm," said Remus, a trifle sheepishly. He'd never really cooked for any Weasleys before, and he was suddenly starting to realize just what that might entail. "I'm not exactly in the same league as your mother, you know." He gestured at the cauldron. "I've got potatoes boiling, and carrots and cabbage, but that's all there is to go with the roast."

"Sounds brilliant!" said Fred at once.

George nodded emphatically. "If we go home to our flat, it's just beans on toast."

"There's nothing wrong with beans on toast," said Remus mildly. He was about as familiar with that dish as he was with potatoes and cabbage.

"Well, no—"

"—not from time to time—"

"—but this would be the third night this _week_."

"Ah." Remus bowed at the waist and made a sweeping gesture with the hand that wasn't holding his wand. "Then let me welcome you both to the House of Black, where boiled potatoes are a specialty."

Tonks was hiding a grin behind one hand, and he shot her a wink before turning away to pull the roast out of the oven. He cast a Carving Charm, piling a platter high with tender, juicy slices, and his mouth watered at the lovely smells that came wafting up. Sirius was right—this was going to be one marvellous cut of beef.

"I'd better let Sirius know it's time—" he started to say, but his words were drowned out by a blood-curdling shriek from upstairs.

"_You!_ Go away! Get out! All day long I am plagued with monsters, shape-shifting freaks, and ginger-haired blood traitors! But you—you're the worst of all! You have betrayed the pride and honour of your noble and ancient family! Get out of my sight—you are _nothing_ to me!"

And then came Sirius's voice, outshouting even his mother's vituperative portrait. "Shut _up_!" Footsteps echoed along the hallway, and there was a clashing of curtain rings. "Do you really think anything you could possibly say would bother me? You're dead and gone, you old bat, and _good riddance!_"

The words were just as flippant as always, but there was a sharp, brittle edge clearly discernible underneath the careless tone. Remus felt his stomach begin to knot with worry. It _had_ been a good day for Sirius...

The scion of the House of Black came clumping down the stairs, muttering darkly under his breath.

But he stopped his clumping when he saw the extra faces around the table, and his expression brightened a little. "Wotcher, peanut," he said, tugging gently at one of Tonks's pink spikes. "Hullo, Weasleys."

Remus breathed a quiet huff of relief and turned back to the worktop, filling plates with roast beef and boiled vegetables and sending them over to the table.

Sirius disappeared into the pantry and emerged with a crock of butter, which he proceeded to slather over everything on his plate but the beef. The twins and Tonks followed suit. Remus made do with a shake of black pepper instead. He'd already gone soft this year where nice tea was concerned; it simply wasn't wise for a man with no prospects to get used to unlimited butter.

"Now _this_ is a roast beef, Moony," Sirius announced. "You _do_ know how to shop properly when you aren't trying to be Mr. Frugal Bachelor all the time."

"'S nice, Remus," Tonks nodded, sawing happily at a thick piece of roast with her knife and fork. She looked up and grinned at him, which started her eyes dancing, so of course he had to grin back. Somehow, that made her look even happier. He chuckled and went back to his dinner, feeling warmed right through.

Sirius turned his sharp gaze on Fred and George, who seemed to have no objections to the meal either, judging from the speed with which they were clearing their plates. "So what've you two been inventing these days?"

Remus ostentatiously groaned and rolled his eyes, but it was all for show. Whenever the twins brought samples of their latest Wheezes to show off to Messrs. Moony and Padfoot, he had to be on his guard for days—but it was worth being pranked a dozen times over if it kept Sirius amused.

"Actually," said Fred, poking at a chunk of potato with his knife, "George and I've been doing some thinking about your mum's portrait."

"Oh?" Sirius raised an eyebrow, looking unusually intent.

"Yeah," said George. "In our line of work, we develop a lot of prank charms—but we need to have antidotes and countercharms for them too."

"So we've had a lot of practice working out countercharms—"

"—and now Fred thinks he's got a counter for the Permanent Sticking Charm."

Remus was impressed. "That, I'd like to see! Flitwick told me he's never known anyone to manage a counter for that charm—and believe me, I went to him first thing when we opened up this house and found Mrs. Black."

"'Course," said Fred modestly, "I've never tried it on anything as big as that portrait."

"But he unsticks small things all the time now." George cuffed his twin lightly on the back of the head. "So we thought it was time to show the Order."

"Let's have a demonstration," said Sirius, around a mouthful of beef.

"_Adhaereo!_" Fred pointed his wand at his goblet of pumpkin juice and had everyone try to lift it. No one could, of course.

Then he brandished his wand one more time and intoned, _"Separo!" _With a flourish, George lifted the goblet. The assembled company broke into applause.

"Let's try it on the portrait," said Sirius, his eyes narrowing. "_Right now._"

They all crept up the stairs and took up positions around the silent portrait. Fred raised his wand, exchanged a cocky look with his twin, and turned to face the tatty curtains covering old Walburga Black.

"_Separo!_"

Remus expected the portrait to slide down the wall and hit the floor, but nothing happened. Fred and George looked puzzled, reaching out to try to pry it off the wall. It didn't work. Mrs. Black was just as firmly affixed as ever.

"Downstairs," muttered Sirius under his breath. "War council."

They settled back into their places around the kitchen table. The twins looked disappointed, and Tonks looked thoughtful. Sirius had an old familiar expression on his face—the sort that used to precede a lengthy discussion of how to sneak Dungbombs into the Slytherin dormitories. Remus indulged in a nostalgic smile.

"So maybe the problem is the size of the portrait," mused George. "Maybe Fred's new charm only works on small things."

Remus was just about to speak up when Tonks beat him to it. "Another possibility is that the countercharm only works on a Sticking Charm you've cast yourself."

Fred looked dismayed. "That's no good at all, then."

"Well, let's see." Sirius grabbed a section of the _Daily Prophet_ from the sideboard and opened it up. "We can practice with this. Go on, Fred, stick it to the wall, and then see what you can do with it."

Fred nodded. "_Adhaereo._" This time he swept his wand across a _Prophet_-sized patch on the wall. "Now we—"

But before he could finish his sentence, a small blur came barrelling through the door, heading right for the Charmed spot. "The filthy creatures are casting Charms in poor Mistress's house!"

"Stop him!" shouted Fred. Remus was already moving. He reached out with his left hand, and Fred reached out with his right. But Kreacher knocked them out of the way with surprising strength. The house-elf ended up between them, Stuck to the middle of the Charmed spot. And he wasn't the only one who was Stuck — now Fred was caught by the tips of his fingers, and Remus by the whole back of his hand.

Then, with a loud crack, Kreacher disappeared.

Remus and Fred stared at each other in dismay.

Sirius let out a low whistle. "I guess it isn't quite so Permanent if you're a house-elf." He sniggered. "You should've just let the little blighter get himself caught—now the two of you are suffering nobly for no reason."

Fred looked nervous. "I've, er, read that you're never supposed to use a Permanent Sticking Charm on a living being." He swallowed. "Let's hope this works." He balanced his wand somewhat awkwardly in his left hand. "_Separo._"

Remus tugged at his own hand, but it stayed stubbornly attached to the wall. Fred seemed to be faring no better.

"Let me try." Tonks Stuck another goblet to the table and then used Fred's countercharm to release it.

"Wow," said George. "I can't even do it yet, and you've got it after only seeing it a couple of times."

"We had Charms Theory in Auror training," Tonks shrugged. Turning to Remus and Fred, she cast the charm again. "_Separo._"

Once again, nothing happened.

"All right," said Sirius enthusiastically, "this supports our theory that Fred's countercharm only works when cast by the same person who cast the Sticking Charm in question." He paused, thinking. "And by the same hand, it seems—because Fred can't even undo his own charm with his left hand."

"And my right hand is stuck to the wall," muttered Fred. "This is just perfect."

Remus grabbed his own wand. "_Protego._" At least a Shield Charm should keep anything else—or any_one_ else—from falling prey to the Permanent Sticking Charm.

George gave his brother a nudge. "You'll get a holiday out of this, anyway. Think about poor little old me—I'll have to run the shop all on my own while you're lounging about waiting for a better countercharm, being fed meals that aren't beans on toast."

"We'll solve this, and soon," said Remus firmly. "We'll get the whole Order here to help us cut the stones out of the wall if we must." Tonks's dark eyes met his, and he knew she understood what he hadn't said—the full moon was less than a week away.

"I have an idea," she said suddenly. "Let me see just how you're Stuck." She leaned over to look closely at Fred's hand, pulling gently at the two fingers that were glued to the wall. Then she turned to Remus, running her hand over his and giving it a careful tug.

She straightened up and let go. "I'll be right back," she said, before turning away and charging up the stairs, but losing the warm touch of her fingers made Remus unaccountably lonely all the same.

A moment later, they heard the front door slam. For once, Walburga Black remained mercifully silent.

Sirius, however, did not. "Let's not be sitting around on our backsides while Tonks is gone. Surely there are things around here we can try."

By the time Remus finally heard footsteps on the stairs again, Sirius and George had dosed them with everything from Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover to a shot of firewhisky, passing through things like cider vinegar and Old Dragon Brand Fire-Breathing Pepper Sauce on the way. Unfortunately, Remus and Fred were as thoroughly attached to the wall as ever.

Tonks looked around at the four of them, her lips twitching. "There's a reason it's called a _Permanent_ Sticking Charm, you know. Now they're stuck, _and_ they reek."

"_Scourgify,_" Remus muttered, vanishing the drippy remains of the experiments.

Sirius, incorrigible as always, merely shrugged. "It was worth a shot."

Shaking her head, Tonks set a small flask down on the table.

"What's that?" Fred eyed it suspiciously.

"Flesh-Eating Slug repellent," she announced. "Just what we need."

Remus felt his eyebrows rising.

"If even firewhisky doesn't work, what good is Flesh-Eating Slug repellent against a Permanent Sticking Charm?" Sirius asked his question with the casual curiosity of someone who didn't have _his_ hand Permanently Stuck to a stone wall. Remus waited for her answer too, a little more avidly.

"Oh, none at all," said Tonks cheerily.

She reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a small glass jar, in which something greyish green and slimy huddled.

Remus's stomach gave a lurch.

"But it's ace," she went on, "at stopping a Flesh-Eating Slug from eating too _much_ off your finger."

Things happened rather quickly after that. Fred, his freckles dark against his white face, clenched his teeth and let the slug nibble at his fingertips. As soon as he was free, Tonks took his hand and healed the raw spots. Then the slug went back into the jar—"I borrowed him from a friend in Knockturn Alley," Tonks explained—and Fred took up his wand in his right hand again.

"_Separo_."

Everyone cheered as Remus pulled his hand cleanly away from the wall.

"This calls for butterbeers all around," Sirius announced, Summoning chilled bottles with a flourish of his wand.

They all took their places at the table again and settled in to watch the fire and trade jokes.

"I _am_ sorry the countercharm won't work on the portrait," said Fred, after telling a bawdy story that made Tonks laugh every bit as hard as Sirius, which in turn made Remus laugh at the two of them until his sides ached.

George nodded. "We'll keep working on it—maybe we can generalize the effects."

"It's still more than Flitwick thought was possible," Remus consoled them. "You've made a major contribution already."

Fred yawned widely and set his empty bottle on the table. "We've got to get up early tomorrow and stock some new inventory before the shop opens. Probably ought to head on home now."

With garrulous thanks for dinner, the twins disappeared up the stairs.

Not long after, Tonks got to her feet and stretched. "I hate to admit it, but I'm knackered. I probably ought to go on home myself." She pocketed the slug jar and the bottle of repellent. "'Night, Sirius. 'Night, Remus."

"'Night, peanut," said Sirius complacently, getting started on that day's crossword in the _Prophet._

"Good night, Tonks," said Remus. He grinned at her. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough for getting us unstuck from that wall."

She turned a little pink, ducked her head, and peeked at him through her lashes. "Not at all." She shifted her weight, looking almost shy for a moment. "See you soon, then."

"Hope so." Remus smiled again at the thought.

Tonks gave a little wave and vanished up the stairs; from the sound of it, she tripped once on the way up, but recovered quickly.

Remus turned back to the table to find Sirius watching him. "I wish I knew what's making Tonks embarrassed so often these days," he mused.

Sirius blinked. "You're joking."

"Haven't you noticed?" Remus raised an eyebrow. He'd always thought Sirius, for all his moodiness and self-absorption, was pretty good at reading people. "She's always blushing, and I think she trips more often than she used to."

"Oh, I've noticed, all right." Sirius smirked.

"I hope I didn't offend her just now." Remus frowned at his butterbeer. "Maybe she thinks that using a Flesh-Eating Slug against a Permanent Sticking Charm is beneath the dignity of an Auror—maybe I shouldn't have called attention to it?"

"I very much doubt you've _offended_ her, Moony." Sirius turned back to the crossword, shaking his head. "Let me know when you work it out, yeah?"

Remus shrugged and reached for a section of the _Prophet._ When Sirius was being secretive, there was nothing for it but to wait him out. Smug git.

But a smug Sirius was far, far better than a mopey Sirius or a bitter Sirius. Remus sent a silent _thank you_ after the twins for their company.

And Tonks, too, of course.

Just thinking about her _always_ made him smile.

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's note:** This chapter is a revised version of a story that was posted at the **metamorfic_moon** community on LiveJournal in November 2007. A little comic relief, before ... well, that would be telling. ;)


	9. If a Seed be Sown

**~ _9_ ~**

**If a Seed be Sown**

Tonks tapped her wand along the front door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, working swiftly through the unlocking charms and security spells that were second nature by now. She pushed the door open and stepped into the chilly, slightly dank hallway, abandoning a lovely June evening for the perpetual gloom of headquarters with a grin of anticipation.

A year ago, who'd have thought that a mouldering old house, crammed full of Dark objects no less, would become her favourite place to spend her free time? What little free time she had, that is, as her work for the Order practically amounted to a second job. Tonks was actually here on Order business tonight—she was meant to work out a new set of surveillance routines with Kingsley and Mad-Eye—but she'd turned up half an hour early, bearing a small paper sack and looking forward to company.

As she fastened the locks and replaced the security spells, Tonks heard voices drifting up from the basement kitchen. She made her way along the shadowy hall and down the stairs, successfully avoiding her sworn enemy the umbrella stand _and_ Great-Aunt Walburga's venomous portrait in one go.

She found both Sirius and Remus in the kitchen, but for once, she'd been so quiet coming in that they hadn't noticed her arrival.

And the scene that greeted her was not a cheerful one.

Sirius was pacing, his face twisted into an ugly scowl and his movements jerky with something like anger or frustration. Remus, looking a little more haggard than he ought to at new moon, had folded himself into one of the heavy oaken chairs, but his eyes followed Sirius's restless path around the room. On the table stood a dusty bottle of wine. Two goblets had been poured, but neither one appeared to have been touched.

"Wotcher," she called from the doorway, as brightly as she could.

At the sound of her voice, Sirius stopped his pacing and turned around. "Hullo, peanut." He didn't exactly smile at her, but his twisted features smoothed, and the hard look in his hooded grey eyes softened a little.

Tonks fought to keep her worry from showing on her face. The longer her cousin was forced to spend hiding in this house that he'd always hated, the more he reminded her of a trapped animal trying to chew off its own limb. His nimble sense of humour had turned caustic and bitter, and if no one stopped him he would drink much more than anyone ought to drink. But her company seemed to cheer him up, most of the time, and that was a very good reason for spending lots of time at headquarters.

Tonks's chipper greeting made Remus look round as well. Unlike Sirius, Remus _did_ smile at her.

But as so often happened these days, she was no longer sure what his smile meant.

There was relief in his eyes, which made sense, if he'd been wishing for some help in shaking Sirius out of a poisonous mood. There was genuine warmth, too—he always seemed glad to see her, which gave her a delicious feeling of contentment.

And—

_Was_ there anything else?

Sometimes she almost thought there was, almost convinced herself that she could see a certain lingering, wistful quality to his normally steady gaze.

Something that might mean he fancied her, even just a little.

But no word or action on Remus's part had ever betrayed the slightest hint that he saw her as anything more than a friend. So Tonks was forced to conclude that she was only imagining things.

Which was extremely unfortunate, given how much she had come to fancy Remus by now.

In fact, she had a niggling suspicion that when you found yourself fancying someone that you already liked and respected more than just about anyone you'd ever known, _fancy_ might not even be the right word to use.

This was the other reason why she couldn't stay away from Grimmauld Place. Common sense told her that it was completely useless—that someone as subtle and brilliant and capable as Remus Lupin couldn't possibly be interested in a brash, inexperienced, _clumsy_ witch. But even so, if she went more than a day or two without seeing his smile and hearing his warm, slightly husky voice, she would start feeling lost and lonely. Spending time with Remus, even only as a friend, felt like coming home.

And there was nothing to stop her from _hoping_ for more.

So, smiling happily back, Tonks dropped her parcel on the table and curled up in a chair across from his.

"Would you like some wine?" Remus offered, and when she nodded, he Summoned a third goblet from the cupboard and filled it. She deliberately let her fingers brush against his as she took the goblet from him, but he didn't even blink.

She swallowed a sigh, found a grin, and lifted her goblet toward Remus and Sirius in turn. "Cheers, lads."

But neither man made to return the salute, so she set her own wine down untasted. "What's wrong?"

Sirius laughed once, harshly. "Let's just say today's been complete shite."

Remus sighed. "It started when Kreacher suddenly took it into his head to vent his displeasure with the Order by breaking one of Buckbeak's wings."

"_What?_" Tonks had come to be quite fond of the fugitive hippogriff, but in any case, this was appalling behaviour, even for a house-elf who'd gone round the bend years ago. "Will Beaky be all right?"

"I think so," said Remus tightly. "But it took the better part of an hour for us to convince him to let us put a splint on the wing and dose him with some bonesetting potion."

"And it gets worse," Sirius ground out through clenched teeth. "We got a message from Snivellus. Voldemort managed to make Harry think he'd seen a vision of _me_ being held captive in the Department of Mysteries. So Harry and his friends broke into Umbridge's office to use the Floo to check on me." He grinned suddenly. "Very resourceful of them. James would've been proud. Although..." His voice trailed off, and the grin faded into a worried frown. "I wish he would just use the two-way mirror I gave him at Christmas!"

"The problem was, you see," said Remus, "that while Harry was trying to contact Sirius, we were upstairs chasing Buckbeak around with a splint."

"Yeah." Sirius's ugly scowl was back, and he was pacing again. "And then the bleedin' toad caught them. Snape said she's got them locked in her office, pinioned by a mob of Slytherin goons, so she can interrogate them."

_Interrogate?_ Tonks swallowed. How far would Dolores Umbridge go? Surely she wouldn't torture _students?_

Remus twisted his mouth into something that was almost a smile. "At least Severus said he made her believe that he's out of Veritaserum. Thank goodness for small mercies."

"So...now what?" Tonks looked from the tense face to the angry one.

"We wait," said Sirius dully.

"Severus said he'll contact us again once he's had a chance to talk to Harry, or at least Umbridge," Remus elaborated. "We'll find out just how much trouble Harry and his friends are in." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Why did this have to happen with Minerva in hospital? I don't _think_ Umbridge will be able to expel Harry for this—surely the school governors wouldn't stand for that—but she may _try._"

"If Harry needs help, I'm ready," Sirius growled, with his hands on his hips and his feet spread wide. "I'm not leaving this Floo again until we have word."

Tonks knew perfectly well that the Order would never want Sirius to risk his safety by leaving the protection of the Fidelius Charm and charging off on some rescue mission, but this did explain why her cousin wasn't drinking tonight. He always put Harry first, even ahead of his own frustration and despair.

"I've brought something," she said, a little hesitantly. "It might help to pass the time while we're waiting." She poked at the paper sack, pushing it a little closer to where Remus sat and Sirius stood behind him.

"What's this, then?" Remus deliberately relaxed his shoulders and gave her a smile of appreciation.

Only appreciation? Tonks _could not tell_.

She smiled back, keeping it cheerful. "I thought you two might enjoy a trip down memory lane. I picked these up in Hogsmeade today."

Sirius scooped up the sack and peeked inside. "Honeydukes!" He actually laughed, which smoothed some of the lines out of Remus's face in turn. Tonks felt her grin grow a little.

Her cousin slid into a chair next to Remus and spilled the sweets out onto the table. "Chocoballs," he said reverently. "Don't think I've had one of these since...before." He bit into one and closed his eyes, looking blissful. "Mmmm."

"I've always been fond of sugar quills, myself," said Remus lightly, choosing one from the jumble of sweets. "They're the easiest to sneak into lessons."

Tonks leaned across the table and poked his shoulder. "You're telling me Mr. Gryffindor Prefect used to eat sweets in his lessons?"

Remus pretended to be affronted. "Not _while_ I was a prefect!"

Sirius snorted.

Tonks fished a couple of Pepper Imps out of the pile and popped them into her mouth, sneezing as they smoked. Remus was turning the sugar quill over and over in his hands, and she lost herself for a moment, watching him. She knew from a couple of the more strenuous Order missions they'd been on together that he was strong, much stronger than he looked, but his hands could be so deft and gentle when they held something delicate like that. A shiver chased itself up and down her spine.

Remus stopped fiddling with the quill, and she dragged her gaze upward to find him looking from the sweet to her with a crafty, calculating expression. She grinned—it was obvious what he was up to.

"Lovely things, aren't they?" he said, all nonchalant, squinting along the length of the feather. "Look how dark the pink is along the rib. But it gradually fades until it's almost white at the edges."

Sirius, back to earth now after his moment of Chocoball ecstasy, was watching the two of them with a gleam of amusement. He knew the game as well as they did.

Remus slapped the sugar quill down on the table in front of Tonks. "Go on, match it!"

"That's an easy one," she scoffed. Concentrating for just a few seconds, she turned the roots of her hair a deep rose and the tips of her spikes palest pink.

"The middle bit's still blue," Sirius announced unhelpfully.

"Git," she shot back, chuckling. "Let me finish." The gradual shading was a bit tricky after all, but she held the rose and the pale pink in her mind's eye and just sort of let them slide together. Applause from the other side of the table told her she'd got it.

"Oh, well done." Remus was grinning at her with open approval and a very warm light in his eyes, and she knew perfectly well it was only because she'd met his friendly challenge, but she couldn't help her pulse speeding up, or her cheeks growing warm, when he looked at her that way.

But then his expression turned rather apologetic, and that almost-wistful look appeared again. "I don't mean to rush off, Tonks, but Kingsley asked me to research an obscure spell for him before he meets with you and Mad-Eye tonight, so I'd better head up to the library and get to it."

Her stomach gave a lurch of disappointment, but only a small one—with any luck, she'd find an excuse to linger after her meeting was over.

"Do you mind?" he asked, holding her gaze but tilting his head toward Sirius, who was busy picking through a handful of Bertie Bott's Beans, setting aside anything green, yellow, or brown.

"No, of course not," she said, nodding once to show she'd understood. Sirius was refusing to leave the Floo, but this was not a good evening to leave him alone, so she'd stay down here and keep him company.

Remus flashed her a swift, grateful smile and made his way upstairs. She watched him go, mesmerised by the spill of his hair over his collar and the angles his shoulders made under his worn but neatly darned robes.

A snigger from Sirius pulled her rudely out of her reverie.

"I've noticed, peanut," he observed, "that you seem to spend an awful lot of time watching old Moony these days." His eyes took on a devilish glint, and one eyebrow curved knowingly. "I don't suppose you're starting to _fancy_ him, are you?"

Tonks raised her own eyebrows and opened her mouth. She was trying to decide between casually deflecting the question with a flippant remark and bluntly telling her cousin to mind his own damn business. As much as she normally enjoyed his acid sense of humour, she had no intention of exposing her own cherished (if most likely hopeless) dreams to the teasing and scorn of Sirius Black, Master of Sarcasm.

But then suddenly something snapped.

She'd been worrying about this all alone for months now, and the urge to confide in someone—_anyone_—simply overwhelmed her. Her shoulders sagged, and her defiantly cheerful face collapsed into glum lines.

"It doesn't matter if I do fancy him," she said quietly. "It's pretty clear I'm not his type."

To her amazement, Sirius didn't laugh at her. In fact, his eyes took on a sober, searching expression she'd only seen a few times before—the night he told her about Remus's condition being one of them. He reached over and ruffled her rose-to-pink spikes. "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Oh, I'm sure, all right." Tonks picked up the sugar quill that Remus had been holding and absently stroked a finger along its length. "I've been trying to flirt with him for ages, and either he's ignoring it, or he doesn't even see that I'm flirting." Her throat tightened. "Either way, it's obvious he doesn't consider me a potential romantic prospect."

"Maybe he doesn't," said Sirius slowly, "but I'll wager that's because of him, not because of you."

Tonks looked up, puzzled.

Sirius went back to sorting the Bertie Bott's Beans. "At school, and even after, Remus had friends who were girls, but he never _dated_ anybody. The rest of us would try to fix him up sometimes, but he'd always weasel out of it." He frowned, gazing at something that was probably fourteen years or more in the past. "When we nagged him about it, he'd say daft things—that being a werewolf meant he couldn't ever have a girlfriend, for starters."

"That _is_ daft!" All her life Tonks had assumed, as a matter of course, that she'd have _someone_ someday. She imagined what it would feel like to deliberately choose a life devoid of love, and her heart twisted. "He'd only need to take care at full moons, and he does that anyway."

"You see that, and I see that," her cousin said, shaking his head in exasperation, "but getting it through Moony's thick skull is much more difficult." He thought for a moment. "To be fair, I always did suspect he was worrying about the social implications of his situation as much as the dangers of the transformation. He'll never be rich, you know, and legally, things are even worse for werewolves now than they were when we were in school."

"So he's never—" Tonks quickly erased a blush and looked down at the sugar quill again. This was getting awfully personal, but she simply had to ask. "_Has_ he ever had a girlfriend, or a...lover?"

Sirius was quiet for a long time. She looked up at him, ready to apologise, but then he answered, speaking slowly. "I just don't know. I don't think he ever did when I was around, but there are twelve years I don't know much about."

Tonks sighed. "Well, none of this really changes anything, does it? It still means that Remus will never even consider starting something with me."

"Oi, weren't you listening to your wise cousin?" Sirius was teasing her now, but there was still no sign of his trademark caustic mockery. "I said I wouldn't be so sure about that." He smiled at her, a fond, lopsided sort of smile. "Remus lights up whenever you walk into the room, you know. He talks about you all the time—what you'd say about something, what you'd do if you were here." He patted her gently on the arm. "And he trusts you. He wouldn't be so eager for you to visit when he's still knackered after full moons if he didn't." The eyebrow went up again. "I'd say all that's a pretty good start."

Her stomach was suddenly filled with butterflies.

"Do you think he still believes romance is off limits?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I have no idea." Then he grinned at her, a saucy, conspiratorial grin. "But I don't think it really matters either way. I'm positive he's halfway besotted with you already, even if he doesn't know it. I think I can push him over the edge."

"What?" Tonks felt as though her face were on fire. "You're not going to _tell_ him that I fancy him!"

Sirius gave her a very haughty, very Black look. "Of course not, dear child. I can be _much_ more subtle than that." He grinned again. "Don't worry—he'll never know what hit him."

Tonks grinned back, a little dubiously. What can of worms had she opened now?

"Look, peanut," said Sirius, very quietly. "Remus deserves to have something good in his life, and I'd love for that something good to be you. You two are the best friends I've got."

She swallowed, unexpectedly touched by her cousin's words. But all this new insight into Remus was making her heart pound, and against her better judgement, hope came welling up, making her feel just a little like she was floating.

They shared another grin—and then they looked up furtively at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Remus appeared, carrying the _Evening Prophet_, and smiled at them both. "Tonks," he said, "Kingsley and Mad-Eye are ready for you in the library." Pushing a section of the _Prophet_ toward Sirius, he settled himself at the table again.

"Thanks." She uncurled herself from her chair, slipping Remus's sugar quill into her pocket when no one was looking. For luck.

"Come back down for a cuppa when you're through," said Sirius, turning directly to the Quidditch scores.

"Good idea," said Remus, glancing through the pages of the editorial section. Behind Remus's back, Sirius winked at her, and she felt herself developing a rather giddy grin.

"Bring Mad-Eye and Kingsley too," Remus added. "We can fill them in about Harry."

Sirius rolled his eyes, and Tonks stifled a giggle. But she knew that Remus was right—keeping track of Harry's interactions with Umbridge was crucial Order business.

"I will," she said. "I'm sure Snape's follow-up report will come any minute now."

Both men nodded, but Remus's gaze lingered slightly.

Sirius was looking very smug. "About what we were discussing—just leave everything to me, peanut."

Her grin broadened, and she even felt a little tingly with expectation. At the very least, she'd cheered her cousin up and stopped him brooding about Harry, Snape, and Buckbeak; he was looking happier than he had in days. At best, well—no sense getting her hopes up, but maybe—

And then came a sudden swirl of silver mist that didn't quite settle into any recognizable shape.

Snape's odd, unstable Patronus.

Remus sat bolt upright. The Quidditch pages crumpled in Sirius's hands. Tonks found herself holding her breath.

"Lupin," said the Patronus, with an audible sneer. "That dunderheaded boy and his friends have vanished completely. I suppose they've gone to the Ministry."

"Mad-Eye!" Tonks shouted toward the stairs. "Kingsley!"

"I believe the missing students to be Potter, the two youngest Weasleys, Granger, Lovegood, and (heaven help us) Longbottom." The Patronus was still speaking, but it had begun to dissipate around the edges. "I don't know how many Death Eaters the Dark Lord plans to send, but Malfoy and Dolohov will be there, and probably several more. Bellatrix Lestrange will most likely be dispatched as well."

Sirius snarled, and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder. Remus caught hold of his arm.

Each one tried to stare the other down.

"Round up as many Order members as you can and go straight to the Department of Mysteries." The Patronus dissolved, and Snape's voice faded to little more than a harsh whisper, but his words echoed in the silent kitchen. "There is no time to waste."

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's note:** This chapter was originally posted at the LiveJournal community **metamorfic_moon** in July 2007, under the title "Friends".


	10. Gather Up the Fragments that Remain

**~ _10_ ~**

**Gather Up the Fragments that Remain**

"Remus?"

Dimly, far away, he heard someone call his name.

But the Veil flapped. Whispers rustled. He couldn't look away, couldn't stop straining to hear what the whispers might be trying to tell him, couldn't quite believe that what had happened tonight was real—

"Remus!"

The voice was sharper now. Nearer.

He wished it would leave him alone—he couldn't hear the whispers—

A hand gripped his arm. Shook it. He blinked, choked on a breath.

"Albus," he rasped.

"My dear boy," said Dumbledore. "I'm so sorry." For an instant, the piercing blue eyes were softened by tears. "But the children need you."

The children.

He looked over to where they huddled together in a corner of the room. Hermione was still unconscious, and Ron was still babbling to himself. Luna sat cross-legged on the floor, talking earnestly to a white-faced Ginny, who had one foot propped up. Neville, hands on his hips, stood at the edge of the group and looked out across the room, turning his head slowly from side to side. Standing sentry, for all that he had no wand.

"Will you take them back to Hogwarts?" Dumbledore released his hold on Remus and polished his spectacles on his sleeve. "I've sent Harry on ahead, and I must go to him now."

"Of course," said Remus.

Because even in a world where Sirius Black was dead, and Nymphadora Tonks had been knocked out by a Death Eater's hex, there were things that needed to be done.

"Make a Portkey." The raw power that Dumbledore usually tempered with calculated whimsy still burned bright tonight, after his confrontation with Voldemort. "If anyone gives you any trouble about it later, I'll take care of it."

Remus went to where the children waited, skirting the edge of the room to stay as far away from the Veil as he could, so that the whispers wouldn't snare him again.

"Still holding up all right?" he asked them, quietly.

"Ginny's broken her ankle," said Luna.

Ginny nodded, teeth clenched against the pain.

"Let me put that in a splint for now." Remus raised his wand and focussed on the spell, on Ginny.

He would _not_ think about the last time he had cast this particular spell, for Ron, on the night when he had learned the truth about Sirius. The night when he was happier than he had been in twelve years.

Ginny sighed in relief. "Thanks."

"What happened to the girl who fell?" asked Luna. "Will she be all right?"

The room constricted again. Remus could see nothing but the spot where Tonks had crumpled under Bellatrix's hex.

He forced himself to breathe. In, out. "She doesn't seem to have any serious injuries," he said, repeating what Kingsley had told him, praying that it was true. "She's been taken to St. Mungo's."

He had to get the children to Hogwarts.

He couldn't let himself think about what would happen if he lost Tonks, too.

_Breathe._ In, out.

"We need a Portkey," he said. "Neville, will you lend me your necktie?"

"Here, Professor." Neville unknotted his tie and held it out.

"_Portus._" The tie glowed blue. "Neville, you keep a good hold on Ron, and Ginny and Luna, each of you take one of Hermione's arms, all right?"

The Portkey jerked. They were in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

It was dark, and all the beds were empty, but the air was heavy with iodine and bitter herbs and disinfectant charms, smells that had marked the aftermath of every full moon for seven years. Smells that used to mean that his three best friends would soon be sneaking in to visit him—

_Breathe._

"Poppy?" Remus knocked on the door to the matron's quarters.

It opened almost at once. "Remus? What are you doing here? Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour." He tried to smile. "But there are students who need your attention."

Poppy spelled the lights on. She peered out at Ron, still emitting feeble giggles between hiccoughs. At the unconscious Hermione, being lifted clumsily onto a bed by Neville and Luna. At Ginny, favouring her unwieldy splint. "Merlin's hat!" Poppy tied an apron on over her dressing gown and bustled over. "What _have_ you children been doing?"

The children explained about Ron being attacked by the brain in the tank, and then Poppy bent over Hermione. Ginny sat on another bed, waiting her turn. Neville and Luna hovered.

The children were all safe now. This task, at least, was finished.

"Here's your tie, Neville." Remus cast a quick _Finite_ and handed it over. "Thank you."

Neville worked it under his collar again, tying it neatly, even though it was the middle of the night and he was covered in dirt and bruises and blood from his broken nose.

"You all fought very bravely," said Remus. "As your former Defence professor, I couldn't be prouder." He even managed to find a smile for them. "Stay here until Madam Pomfrey has had a chance to look each of you over, all right? Good night."

"Good night," they all said. "Good night, Professor Lupin."

He turned to go.

And then he turned back. There were more words he had to say. Words that would tear at his voice like broken glass.

"Ginny." He glanced at Neville and Luna, listening, but it couldn't be helped. And anyway, they had seen it happen, or at least Neville had. "When Ron and Hermione wake up, be sure to tell them that Sirius is—gone." He waited for Ginny's nod. "Harry isn't taking it so well. He'll need all of you."

And then Ginny was looking up at him with Molly's eyes.

The broken glass burned in his throat.

"Professor Lupin?" She reached out and touched his sleeve, gingerly. "I'm so sorry."

All he could see was Sirius. Laughing, and then wide-eyed with shock, and then falling, _falling_—

The warm touch of a hand on his arm. Three faces: pained sympathy, dawning comprehension, and open curiosity.

_Breathe._

"Thank you, Ginny."

With another—failed—attempt at a smile, he turned and walked away, and did not shatter.

Luna's clear voice floated after him. "Who is Sirius? Is he the man that died?"

"He was Harry's godfather," came Ginny's careful answer. "And Professor Lupin's friend."

Remus went on walking, putting one foot in front of the other.

There were things that needed to be done.

**o.o.o**

Remus slipped in through the front door at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, pausing to reset all the security charms behind him.

The gas lamps were still burning in the hallway, just as they had been when Snape's summons had arrived, and everyone in the house had charged off to the Ministry.

Everyone in the house.

Even the one who shouldn't have gone—

Footsteps sounded overhead. Remus froze for an instant, and then cast a Disillusionment Charm. He flattened himself against the peeling wallpaper, wand still drawn. There was nothing like the possibility of encountering the most crazed of all the Death Eaters to focus one's mind on the present moment.

A shadow stretched across the wall on the first-floor landing.

It was too broad-shouldered to be Bellatrix.

"Kingsley," called Remus in relief, as the Auror appeared behind his shadow. "_Finite_." He stepped back into the light.

"Remus." Kingsley hurried down the stairs, a bundle of parchments under one arm. "Dumbledore told me there was a chance that ownership of the house might have passed to Bellatrix Lestrange—"

"Yes," said Remus. "I thought I'd better come back and clean out all the Order's documents, first thing."

"I've already got everything important that was in the kitchen, and just now I was checking the library," said Kingsley. "Obvious places first. But we ought to look through the whole house, just in case."

"How is—Did you—" _Breathe._ "Any word on Nymphadora's condition?"

"I stayed with her at St. Mungo's until a Healer checked her over," said Kingsley. "They say she may be unconscious for a while, and she'll have a magnificent headache when she wakes up, but she should be fine."

"Good," said Remus, hoarsely. "That's good." He swallowed. "I'll check the bedrooms on the second floor, shall I, while you finish in the library?"

"Is that what you want to do?" Kingsley's deep voice was gentler than Remus had ever heard it. "I can look over Sirius's room, if you'd rather do the library."

"No, that's all right." Remus's own voice echoed oddly in his ears. "He didn't keep much in the way of Order business in his room. I'll just give it a quick look, now; we can all clean out our personal effects later."

Going through Padfoot's things was, by all rights, a job for a Marauder.

Moony was the only one left.

**o.o.o**

Next was a message that had to be delivered.

This particular task, Remus would have preferred to leave to someone else. Anyone at all. But Tonks needed to know what had happened, and she deserved to hear it from someone who had cared about Sirius as much as she had.

Only, the first time Remus went to St. Mungo's, Tonks was still unconscious.

He went as soon as the morning visiting time started, leaving Kingsley to finish combing through the last few rooms at Grimmauld Place. He hardly knew how he'd managed to find Spell Damage, dazed with exhaustion as he was after working through the night. Now he made his way to her bed at the far end of the ward, feeling as though his legs were made of lead, or as though he were slogging through the densest, coldest water at the bottom of the sea.

Remus settled himself in one of the uncomfortable chairs that St. Mungo's deployed to keep visitors from staying too long. He leaned forward to study Tonks's pale face, now framed by soft, slightly wavy hair in a delicate shade of light brown he had never seen her wear before. A remote corner of his brain that was still trying to function wondered if perhaps Metamorphmagi reverted to their natural appearance when they lost consciousness.

There were no visible injuries, but she looked just as pale and small now as she had done in the Department of Mysteries, lying crumpled in a heap where Bellatrix's hex had hit her.

Pale, small, and—fragile.

Remus had _never_ thought of cheeky, capable Tonks as fragile.

He rubbed his hands over his face and fought to clear his cobwebbed mind. She was going to be fine, everyone said.

Fine.

Except for the fact that she'd lost the cousin who made her grin when he mussed her hair and called her "peanut."

And she didn't even know it yet.

_Breathe._

One of her hands lay on top of the blanket. Remus reached out and touched it. It felt very cold, so he picked it up and chafed it gently—and found that his own hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so terribly sorry. I failed him. Again."

She lay very still, except for the slightest rise and fall of her chest.

What would happen when she woke? When he told her what had happened?

Everyone said she was going to be fine.

But that didn't mean Remus wouldn't lose her friendship, all the same.

He didn't even know whether he really had the right to call her a friend, even now. He thought—he _hoped_—the smiles she'd had for him had always seemed real. But all those evenings at Grimmauld Place, when he'd been laughing at her stories, or challenging her to try out more and more difficult hair colours, or generally feeling warm and comfortable in the comradely atmosphere she created so easily—what if she'd only been tolerating him for Sirius's sake?

What if he would never be anything to her again but a painful reminder of what she had lost?

Of what he hadn't managed to save?

_Breathe_.

In, out.

_Again. Breathe_.

Remus had to count nearly a dozen breaths before the grief, and the pain, and his deep secret terror of being left utterly alone once more, had been forced back to manageable levels.

But he had survived loss before. He could do it this time, too.

And for now, Tonks slept on. Surely his presence wouldn't do her any harm.

For now.

His shoulders gradually grew stiff, and his back began to throb where he'd been hit by a deflected curse at the Ministry. But he knew nothing beyond the feel of a small cold hand, cradled carefully in his, until finally a mediwitch came to carry out some kind of examination and shooed him away.

**o.o.o**

"Remus! Come in, come in." Molly latched onto his arm and all but dragged him inside, settling him into a chair at her worn but well-polished kitchen table and pouring him a cup of tea.

Remus hadn't been to the Burrow before, but it said _Weasley_ all over—rambling and shabby and comfortable, like a beloved old jumper. The shivering that had taken hold of him sometime in the last few hours even eased a little.

He set a stack of parchments on the table. "How are Ron and Ginny?"

"They'll be fine." Her face darkened. "I can't believe the children all—" But then she stole a quick look at Remus's own face, and stopped abruptly.

"It's a good bet you haven't eaten all day," she fussed, instead. "Let me fix you a sandwich and heat up some soup."

"That's kind of you, Molly, but I'm really not hungry." His stomach turned at the thought of anything more substantial than tea. "I can only stay for a moment, in any case. But Kingsley and I cleaned all the Order projects out of headquarters last night, and I've brought the documents that Bill was working on, and some things that I think are yours and Arthur's."

"You spent all night working at headquarters?" Molly's gaze went right through him much more easily than he had expected; he must be exhausted indeed. "Oh, _Remus_."

He closed his eyes for a moment, opening them only to stare fixedly at his teacup. "It was necessary. Sirius—"

His voice cracked.

He swallowed and tried again. "Sirius named Harry in his will as his heir, but it's possible that some older stipulation is still in force, even so. If the house passes down within the Black family, the first in line is Bellatrix Lestrange."

"That horrid woman!" Molly's eyes flashed sparks. "I knew her at school, of course. She was horrid even then, but, goodness! The things she did to poor Frank and Alice Longbottom!"

"It would be most unfortunate if headquarters fell into her hands," Remus agreed. "Not to mention, most ironic. She was the one who—"

He couldn't—

_Breathe._ In, out.

"Oh, _Remus,_" said Molly again. She sat down in the chair next to his and folded his hand between hers. "I'm so, so sorry." She blinked back tears. "I know Sirius and I didn't always see eye to eye, but he never deserved this."

He let himself cling to her hand, just for a moment.

"Thank you for the tea, Molly." He was relieved to find that his voice had returned. "I'm afraid I must be on my way. There are a number of things I have to take care of today."

"Come for dinner, some night soon." She scowled at him, fierce now. "Promise me. No excuses."

"I'll try," he said.

**o.o.o**

The second time Remus went to St. Mungo's, Tonks had visitors.

From where he stood outside the door to Spell Damage, he could see that they were a middle-aged couple. The woman (who looked uncannily like Bellatrix, if considerably saner) was gently stroking Tonks's fine brown hair, and the man had his arm around the woman's shoulders.

Her parents. Who, by the look of it, loved her very much. That would help, when she woke up.

Remus turned and slipped quietly away.

**o.o.o**

His tiny basement flat seemed much smaller and darker than Remus remembered. But of course, he'd hardly spent any time here at all since last spring. Except for full moons, when he wasn't exactly paying attention to the ambience.

The flat was rather bare, too. Without his noticing, most of his possessions had made their way to Grimmauld Place over the course of the past year. Still, it had taken almost no time at all, just now, for him to clean out the room he had been using at headquarters.

Even if it turned out that the house hadn't gone over to Bellatrix, Remus doubted he could ever bring himself to live at Grimmauld Place again.

He set his battered suitcase on the floor by the bed.

There would be time enough to unpack later, when he was finished with everything else.

The small rickety table was groaning with parchments—all the Order work he'd dumped there before hurrying to St. Mungo's this morning. Dumbledore's spiky handwriting accosted him from the top of the stack. _...need to ask you to borrow an Invisibility Cloak from Alastor and begin a surveillance mission to gather information on Fenrir Greyback's werewolf pack..._

Remus swallowed. That would be dangerous, and possibly quite difficult. Greyback had a terrifying reputation. But at least a new mission would be something to keep his mind occupied.

That was for later, though. Tonight, there was only one more thing he needed to do before he could finally let himself collapse into bed and get some sleep.

If, that is, he _could_ sleep, after—

He hadn't tried, yet.

**o.o.o**

The third time Remus went to St. Mungo's, the mediwitch who had chased him off before was bustling through the Spell Damage ward again.

"You're here for Miss Tonks, aren't you? That's good." She paused long enough to spare him a harried smile. "Her parents were exhausted, so I sent them home to get some rest, but now she's started to stir a bit. I wouldn't be surprised if she woke up soon."

"Thank Merlin," Remus whispered, dizzy with relief, even as his stomach clenched in trepidation and his steps turned sluggish.

But even steps he had to force himself to take, one at a time, brought him to her bedside eventually.

He lowered himself back into the uncomfortable visitor's chair.

Tonks was indeed stirring a little, just as the mediwitch had said. A frown, of pain or worry, creased her brow.

If he hadn't been so thoroughly fogged with exhaustion, he probably wouldn't have reached out and caught hold of her hand—not now that she was likely to wake up. But by the time he had realised what he had done, her fingers had wrapped themselves around his.

Remus brushed his thumb over her knuckles, trying once again to warm her icy fingers.

Her hair was still brown, except where light from the setting sun spilled in through the window and washed it in pale orange-gold. Her face was a little less ashen now, but there were dark circles under her eyes.

She frowned again.

And then her eyes blinked open. Her hand clenched around his, almost painfully.

Remus felt all his insides turn to lead.

Here it came. No more putting it off.

_Breathe._

"Remus." Her voice came out as a whisper, and she coughed a little. "Is it over? What happened?" Her glance flicked around the ward. "St. Mungo's, yeah?"

"It's over," he said, not a little surprised to find his own voice working. "For now. And yes, this is St. Mungo's. It's evening again—you've been unconscious for a day."

There was a glass of water on the table by the bed. He picked it up and held it out to her.

"Thanks." She took it in her free hand, keeping her hold on his with the other.

He watched her drink. He took the glass from her again when she was finished. He held her hand gently in his. These things, he could do.

"You look _rough_, Remus." Her voice was clearer now. "What happened? The last thing I remember was duelling with _dear_ Auntie Bella—" A look of disgust crossed her face. "She knocked me out, didn't she. And here I'm supposed to be trained to take down Dark wizards—"

"You have nothing to be ashamed of," said Remus, emphatically. "Bellatrix is extremely powerful." His voice broke, but he took a breath and pushed on. "I saw the hex she hit you with, and you must have cast a phenomenal Shield Charm if all it did was knock you out for a little while."

"But, what happened?" Tonks asked, for the third time.

_Breathe._

"Nymphadora—" he said, without meaning to. He stopped, waiting for her to scold him for using her name.

She didn't.

Instead, her dark eyes searched his face.

He forced himself not to look away.

She drew a shaky breath, and her grip on his hand tightened again. "Something's happened. Something bad."

_Breathe. _

_Again. Breathe._

In, out.

_Again._

"Yes," he said. "I'm afraid so—"

Broken glass in his throat. He couldn't—

"Remus?"

He had to.

For Nymphadora.

_Breathe._

"It's Sirius," he whispered. "He's—"

The words burned like acid, like Fiendfyre.

"—he's—dead."

What little colour had returned to Tonks's face now drained away. Her eyes filled with tears.

With pain.

_Breathe_.

"How?" she whispered.

"He was duelling." Remus closed his eyes, but he opened them again quickly when a flood of wrenching images assaulted him. "He was hit, and he fell through the Veil."

Tonks covered her face with her free hand, but she didn't let go of his with the other.

Obviously, she hadn't worked it all out yet.

"I'm sorry." The words tried to stick in his throat, and he had to grind them out, hoarse and harsh. "I'm so sorry, Nymphadora. I never should have let him leave the house last night."

He stared at the floor, bracing himself for when she jerked her hand free, for when she rolled away from him and turned her back.

Instead, her fingers tightened around his. She gave his hand a sharp shake.

He stiffened.

"Remus." Her voice was thick with tears. "_Look_ at me."

He dragged his gaze up to meet hers.

Behind the tears on her lashes, her dark eyes blazed.

"It's not your fault." She gave his hand another squeeze. "You saw what he was like last night. Harry was in danger. An entire herd of hippogriffs wouldn't have been able to keep Sirius from going to the Ministry."

This time, it was her thumb that scuffed across his knuckles.

_Breathe._ In, out.

_Again._

"Are—" She swallowed. "Of course you're not all right." She searched his face again. "But were you hurt, in the fighting?"

"Nothing to speak of," he said. "A few bruises."

"Then—" She flushed, and he stared at the colour that stained her cheeks. Usually she Metamorphosed to hide it. "Would you stay with me, just for a little while?"

She swiped the back of her other hand across her eyes, brushing away most of the tears.

"I could do with a friend, just now," she whispered.

Her hand was warm in his at last, her grip strong and steady.

And—she had called him a friend.

He held on.

Breathing was a little easier, now.

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's notes:** The first scene of this chapter is an expanded version of a ficlet with the same title that was posted at the LiveJournal community **day_by_drabble** in August 2011. Early versions of the St. Mungo's scenes were originally posted as a ficlet, "Clarity", at the LiveJournal community **metamorfic_moon** in July 2007.


	11. Catching Hold

**~ _11_ ~**

**Catching Hold**

Tonks very narrowly avoided tripping over the troll's foot umbrella stand that guarded the entrance hall at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Her close brush with chaos was normal and familiar, and for an instant it nearly made her smile—but only nearly.

Because everything else was terribly, terribly wrong.

Even the silence of the old house was wrong. It should have been the bored silence of Sirius taking one of his lazy naps on some musty sofa somewhere, or even the sullen silence of Sirius drinking himself into a stupor in the middle of the afternoon.

But not this.

Not this barren silence that meant that Sirius would never come home again.

It didn't seem right that the umbrella stand _could_ still wobble in its usual way, under the circumstances. At least she was saved from a frustrating spill when Remus's hand, strong and reassuring, closed around her elbow to steady her.

"Thanks," she whispered, automatically glancing at the portrait of old Great-Aunt Walburga to see if they had disturbed it, but the strident voice remained silent behind the tattered curtains.

A familiar swift smile flashed across Remus's face in response. Only, it didn't reach his eyes.

_That_ was wrong, too.

And she didn't have a bloody clue how to fix it.

"Will you be all right on your own?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "I want to liberate a few of the more useful books from the library while you pick up your things. It doesn't _look_ like ownership of the house has passed to Bellatrix, but we probably shouldn't risk coming here again until we know for certain."

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Tonks disengaged her elbow from his gentle grip. "I have a few T-shirts upstairs, and my favourite mug is in the kitchen, but I think that's all."

Remus nodded. They started up the stairs together, but he left her at the first-floor landing to head for the library. She went on, up two more flights, to the bedroom she had used on the rare occasions when she had stayed at headquarters overnight or caught a nap between shifts.

Pulling open the top drawer of an ornate dresser, she scooped up a handful of T-shirts and a small pile of clean knickers, stuffing everything into her satchel. She checked the rest of the room for anything else she might have left there, mechanically following standard Auror search procedures.

Her mind, however, was on Remus.

"I don't know _what_ he did after that Hallowe'en," Sirius had told her once, frustrated. "I can't get him to talk about the first year or two at all. The only thing I know is, he gave up his flat and started travelling. He _says_ he was simply looking for work, but knowing Moony—" He sighed. "I can just see him, pulling away from Dumbledore and the rest of the Order—wandering aimlessly through his own damn life like a bloody _tourist,_ with no connection to anything or anyone—"

Tonks had shivered. "He's all right _now,_ isn't he?"

"Yeah, I think he is." Sirius had smiled grimly and knocked back a slug of firewhisky. "But we need to make sure he _stays_ all right, peanut. You and I."

Now, Tonks closed the bedroom door firmly behind her and started down the long staircase again. _If you didn't look too closely,_ she mused, _you'd probably think that Remus is doing just fine._ Level-headed. Capable. He was the one who had come here with Kingsley right away—when Tonks herself was still in hospital, unconscious—to gather up all the Order's documents in case the house had been compromised. He had already started working with Dumbledore to develop new plans for surveillance on Death Eaters. He had even stayed late after last night's Order meeting at the Burrow to help Molly with the washing-up, just like always.

But his eyes were so very far away.

Tonks bit her lip. He hadn't been this remote three days ago, when he had come to see her at St. Mungo's. Then, she had seen his grief and his pain, had felt his hand grip hers as much to seek comfort as to offer it.

So this distance was a new development.

Unless it was an _old_ one—unless this was the beginning of what Remus had done the first time, cutting loose all his ties...

She scowled.

There had to be _something_ she could do to bring him back.

**o.o.o**

Tonks herself was doing just fine until she pushed open the door to the dark, empty kitchen and saw the chair.

The scuffed wooden chair, still standing a little askew as though pushed back hastily from the table, had been Sirius's favourite perch. He had slumped in it, tipped it back on two legs, kicked its rungs with his boots, pounded on its arms when he was winning at Exploding Poker—

Her satchel thudded to the floor as she covered her face with her hands, shaking with the force of her sobs.

"Tonks?"

Footsteps started slowly down the stairs—and then hurried to the bottom. A warm hand found her shoulder.

"Oh, Nymphadora." Remus's voice was bleak.

"Sorry," she gasped from between her fingers. "I'm sorry—" She _never_ cried. Not in front of other people, anyway. And Remus had his own burden of grief to worry about.

The hand on her shoulder pressed harder, turning her toward him. Before she realised what he was going to do, he had already done it.

He was holding her.

Remus Lupin, who never touched her except to catch her gently by the arm when she was in danger of losing her balance, was _holding_ her.

The shock stopped her tears. She pushed her damp face into his robes and slid her arms around him, palms flat and open over the sharp edges of his shoulder blades.

"Ssh," he said, patting her gently on the back. "That's right."

Her heart was pounding hard enough to hurt. How many nights had she dreamed of exactly this?

Well—not _exactly_ this. Her dreams had not in fact featured Remus hugging her the way he might hug Molly or Hermione or Ginny, or possibly even Harry—offering simple comfort and friendship in the face of grief.

But he was holding her, all the same.

She kept her eyes closed and concentrated, trying to memorise everything: the faint scent of soap and tea, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, the warmth of his arms.

And then, reluctantly, she straightened and pulled away, fishing for a handkerchief in her pocket. What Remus was actually offering her was comfort. It wouldn't be fair to try to take too many other things.

"Tonks?" He touched her shoulder again, lightly, with the tips of his fingers. She looked up and met his gaze, and had her second shock.

His brow was knitted in concern, and he was looking straight at her with eyes that were indisputably _right there._

Wherever he had been for the last few days, he was back now.

"Do you..." He frowned, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Are you busy this afternoon?"

"Me? No, not really." She cleared her throat, trying to steady her voice. "I'm on medical leave for a few more days."

"There's a—place. Somewhere I'd like to show you. Will you come with me?"

Tonks found she was holding her breath. She had never gone anywhere with Remus that wasn't for an Order mission.

"Yeah." She tried to smile at him. "Just let me get my mug from the cupboard. That's the last of my things."

She rested her hand for an instant on the back of Sirius's chair as she walked past.

**o.o.o**

When Tonks emerged from the dark squeeze of Apparition, there was uneven, shifting sand underfoot. She found herself—what else?—off-balance. But the iron grip she still had on Remus's arm let her regain her footing.

Releasing her hold, she spun in a circle, looking around curiously.

They stood in a small cove, a few paces away from the sea. Rocky cliffs, leaning out over their heads, hid the cove from anyone who might be peering down from above. Jagged rocks littered the water, shredding the surf into eddies of white. The beach was effectively inaccessible from either land or sea. It was certainly a safe place to Apparate undetected.

A stiff breeze whipped through her short curls—she had managed a pale blue today, which proved she was healing—and sent the waves crashing against the rocks and onto the shore. The pounding surf beat out a harsh but somehow soothing rhythm. She saw the set of Remus's shoulders relax a fraction, and his breathing slowed and deepened; surely that was a good thing. But his eyes were distant again.

Tonks touched his arm. "Where are we?"

"In Devon." Remus turned toward her, focussed now. Maybe he had simply been gazing out to sea. "Not too far from Lynton. My father found this place, years ago."

He shrugged out of his robes, revealing a frayed shirt and worn pair of trousers. "Shall we sit for a few minutes?"

When she nodded, he spread the robes out on the sand and waited for to Tonks to sit before settling himself beside her.

He gave her half a smile. "Dad used to bring me here after moons sometimes, especially when I'd had a bad transformation." His gaze slid away, then, but that was all right; it was only his familiar discomfort with anything that had to do with the topic of lycanthropy.

"It's nice." She looked out across the water. "Peaceful."

"Yes." Remus scooped up a handful of sand and let it run out between his fingers. They both watched it fall.

"I like the sound of the waves," he said, quietly. "You don't have to think, here. You can just listen. That's why—" He broke off.

Tonks looked up at him and caught her breath. His gaze was as intense as she had ever seen it, and he was looking straight at her.

She had the wild thought that he was _more_ present than usual, just now.

"I spent a lot of time here after James and Lily died. It—helped." He tried another smile. It wasn't quite successful, but he didn't look away.

"Oh," she said, very softly. She shivered, imagining a Remus younger than she was now, coming to this place because his world had ended.

Coming to this place because he was alone.

He picked up more sand, but this time he turned his hand over and opened his fist, letting it fall all at once.

"Grief—" He stopped again, smoothing the sand flat under his fingers. "It's like a flood. If you let it, it will pull you in and sweep you away."

"Yeah." Tonks swallowed, hard. "I think I know what you mean." It _was_ like that, especially at night, when she was alone in the dark. She would imagine, over and over again, what she had not actually seen: Sirius falling through the grasping tattered curtains of the Veil. She would be haunted by the moment when her Stunning Spell had missed and Bellatrix's hex had found its target. And she would feel herself crushed under the weight of the knowledge that if only she had taken Bellatrix down—as she was _trained_ to do, for Merlin's sake—Sirius might still be alive.

But then she saw Remus looking at her, and she forced herself to straighten her shoulders and raise her chin. He had known Sirius much longer and better than she had, and this was the _second_ time he had mourned the loss of that friendship. The last thing in the world he needed was to have to take care of _her._

Unless—

Tonks blinked, staring back into those kind brown eyes, where concern had pushed its way past pain and snapped a distant, troubled gaze back into focus.

Maybe looking after her was giving him a useful distraction.

Remus wrapped his arms around his knees and gazed out over the water again. "I've found that what you have to do with grief is to push it back, push it down." His jaw clenched. "Make it small, and lock it away where it can't get out."

So that's what he was doing when he looked like he had gone off somewhere.

Chilled to the bone, Tonks stole a glance at the silent, rigid man by her side.

_Does that work?_

There was no doubt that Remus had much more experience with grief than she had. But she had always thought that grief needed to be aired out—exposed to the light of day until its pain faded with time.

_If you bottle it up, won't it be there, inside you, forever?_

Remus took a deep breath and let it out again, slowly. "I find the pushing down much easier to do, here." He turned back to face her, still with that unexpected intensity of focus. "That's why I wanted to show you this place." He reached out and touched her hand. "I want you to feel you can come here. Anytime you need to."

His fingers slid away, but she could still feel exactly where his skin had touched hers.

"Thanks," she whispered, knowing that the word was utterly inadequate.

She watched him watching the pounding surf.

Remus had brought her here, to this hidden place from his past—a place he had never even told Sirius about, it seemed—because it was the best way he knew of coping with the pain of loss.

Because he wanted her to have a refuge, too.

And today—she was certain, now—it had been those moments when he was the most concerned about _her_ that had pulled him the furthest out of his own fog of grief.

She wanted Remus to hold her again. She wanted it so badly that it threatened to bring more tears to her eyes. Not that their brief hug in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place had erased the pain of Sirius's death, but it had surrounded her cold lonely grief with a moment of warmth and comfort—and while it lasted, the loss had been more bearable.

Maybe what they needed was to look after each other. Maybe they could get each other through this.

_I won't let him disappear,_ she promised Sirius silently. _Not this time._

Whether Remus ever fancied her back or not, she would be a friend he could depend on.

Tonks blinked, hard, and made her own attempt at a smile. "It means a lot that you've brought me here."

Remus's eyes found hers.

"And it means a lot," she said softly, "that I'm not alone. Not like you were when James and Lily died."

His hand, on the robes between them, clenched into a fist.

She rested her hand on top of it.

After a moment, the fist uncurled. He wrapped his fingers gently around hers. She gave a little squeeze.

He squeezed back.

It was a start.

**o.o.o**

* * *

**Author's note:** This chapter is a slightly revised version of a story that was posted at the **metamorfic_moon** community on LiveJournal in August 2009. Many thanks to **Gilpin** and **Katy has clogs** for help with British coastal geography.


	12. Blindsided

**~ _12_ ~**

**Blindsided**

It was getting to be too dark to write.

Remus squinted at the pieces of parchment that he had spread out across the kitchen table. The days were long now, in late June, but evening sunlight never had learned to find its way in through the high narrow windows of his basement flat.

He stood, and stretched, and attempted to pace, though the flat was really too small to work up any decent momentum. Not like at Grimmauld Place, where on restless days he had wandered the halls and the empty rooms until someone had collared him and made him stop. It might have been Molly, with a cup of tea, or Mad-Eye, with a point of strategy, or one of the twins, with a new Wheeze. Or Tonks, who seemed to know exactly when he needed a joke and when he needed a concrete problem to solve.

Or it might have been Sirius, with a barking laugh or a sullen growl, depending entirely on the kind of day he'd been having. Too many growls, too many bad days—

_No._

It wouldn't do to be thinking about that. Not at all.

At any rate, he was back in his own flat now, where there wasn't enough room to pace properly, and no one to distract him even if he managed to get himself started pacing—

_Enough of that._

He had been delighted with this flat for the whole first year after he'd had to leave Hogwarts. It might be small and dark, but it was dry and secure and he could afford it all on his own.

And, soon enough, if Dumbledore's plans for him progressed to their logical conclusion, he would likely be wishing he were right back here.

Remus drew a deep breath and let it out, slowly. This close to the full moon, it was harder than usual to keep his thoughts from running in undesired directions. But it was about time he came to terms with the fact that his life at Grimmauld Place, as part of what amounted to an extended family, was over. The Black house stood empty. There were still plans for meetings at the Burrow, but the Order was scattered now; Dumbledore was travelling frequently, the Auror Office had assigned Tonks to Hogsmeade, and Sirius was—

_Stop._

Remus fetched a glass of water and sat at the table again, which was now completely in shadow. Absently, he waved his wand. A pair of candles flared to life, and his own square handwriting came into focus: _...three abandoned houses along the river... approximately two dozen residents in the encampment... no visible means of support aside from theft, hunting small animals in the wood, and __scavenging rubbish..._

He took a sip from his glass and picked up his quill.

His current mission for the Order was to lurk in the wood, under the Invisibility Cloak he'd borrowed from Moody, and gather information about Fenrir Greyback's werewolf pack. Dumbledore hadn't yet said anything about any long-term objectives for this particular mission. But after Hagrid had been sent to make contact with the giants last year, Remus didn't need Sybill Trelawney's crystal ball to see where this was heading.

Sirius would have tweaked him, mercilessly. _All that practice nicking puddings from the kitchens at Hogwarts was bound to pay off someday,_ he might have said. Or, _Squatting in abandoned houses? __Sounds like they've got the same flair for design as you have, Moony._

It would have helped.

The quill snapped in his fingers. Remus started, cursing under his breath. But a careful _Evanesco_ took care of the ink splatters, and a _Reparo_ mended the quill well enough—he didn't have so many that he could afford to throw this one out.

"That's what you get for wool-gathering," he muttered, bending over his parchment once more. He worked on in silence, managing at last to keep his thoughts away from everything but his observations of the werewolf camp.

Until, not ten minutes later, a silvery light—brighter than his candles—filled the room.

He tensed, waiting for a warning or a call to arms, but Tonks's jackrabbit Patronus merely loped around him once and nudged his arm with its whiskery nose. "Oi, Remus," it said. "It's been a bloody long day. I'm knackered, and I could use a drink with a friend. Want to meet up at the Three Broomsticks?"

The silver jackrabbit faded away, but Remus sat staring at the spot where it had been.

_A drink with a friend._

He'd always marvelled at the fact that Tonks seemed to be so willing to give up her free time just to help keep Sirius company. But could she actually be missing those evenings in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place just as he was?

Remus poked at a scrap of parchment with his quill. As much as he longed for company—for _Tonks's_ company—he supposed he really ought to stay in tonight and finish getting his mission notes together, so that he could send them off to Dumbledore. And money spent on a round of drinks at a tavern now might mean a missed meal or two later.

But it was less than a week since Tonks had been released from St. Mungo's. Only days since she had returned to work. She was grieving. If she wanted company, how could he possibly tell her no?

Especially since this was the second time she had indisputably called him a friend.

Remus sent his own Patronus off to find her, gathered up his notes, and went poking around in the wardrobe in search of his least shabby set of robes.

And then he realised that, for the first time in days, he was grinning.

**o.o.o**

Tonks paced back and forth in the little bedroom she had chosen for herself in the Aurors' hired cottage in Hogsmeade, occasionally tripping over the clothes that had already begun to drift in piles on the floor.

Remus _would_ answer her message—of course he would—he was much too polite not to answer—

But what would he say?

_Please,_ was the part of her own message she hadn't sent. _Please say you'll come. _

It seemed impossible that Sirius could be gone, that she would no longer hear his sharp bark of a laugh, or see that odd flash of almost paternal pride that should have annoyed her but was oddly endearing instead. Impossible that he would never have a chance to prove his innocence and live a life outside the house he so loathed.

And it made it all so much worse that the Order had been turned out of Grimmauld Place, and the Ministry had assigned her to dementor patrol all the way out here in Hogsmeade. She was on her own now.

Anything familiar would have helped—Molly's fussing, say, or Mad-Eye's paranoia. But what she _really_ wanted was to spend the evening with Remus. She'd got so used to that, these last months; used to his quiet humour, his brilliant schemes, his warm kindness. Used to the way he understood her so well, seeing beyond what she said to what she was really thinking.

Except, of course, for the fact that he remained stubbornly oblivious to any attempt she made to flirt with him.

Tonks stopped pacing long enough to peer out the small round window in the south wall of her room. She knew perfectly well that a Patronus message could pass through walls, but that didn't stop her from pulling the window wide open all the same.

Remus _did_ think of her as a friend, not just someone to be polite to at Grimmauld Place. She was certain of it now. Especially since he had so clearly been looking after her when he showed her his refuge by the sea. And he'd stuck right by her side during the Order mission to warn the Dursleys off at King's Cross the day before, when the students had gone home from Hogwarts.

But did he miss her as much as she missed him?

Would he meet her tonight?

Or was he grieving alone, withdrawing inside himself? Pulling away from the people who cared about him, just as he had done once before?

That prospect frightened her more than anything.

Finally—_finally_—a swirl of silver filled the room. His voice followed, that quiet voice that could hold such warmth sometimes.

It was warm now.

"A drink at the Three Broomsticks sounds very nice," it said. "I can meet you there in a quarter of an hour."

Tonks whooped and punched the air, grinning like a loon.

**o.o.o**

Remus caught himself smiling again when he looked in the mirror to comb his hair. He rather thought he must have smiled more in the last fifteen minutes than he had in all the days since that night at the Ministry.

But thinking of Tonks simply _made_ him smile. There was nothing for it. He had never expected to find another friend that would mean as much to him as Sirius and James (and Peter, once) had done, but there it was. She was warmth, and colour, and mischief. She was brave and clever—she made a damned good Auror—and she was loyal to the point of stubbornness.

Even to him. Even after she learned what he was.

She was grieving now, of course, so the colour was dimmed, but the warmth and the loyalty were there in spades. He wanted to soak up a little of that warmth, and maybe offer her a little in return, if he could.

And he wanted to—he—

He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless.

_What?_

Remus sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. The comb slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

Where on earth had _that_ come from?

He stared at a crack in the wall, hearing his own breathing grow harsh and uneven as the truth slowly forced its way to the surface of his thoughts. _This_ was why he couldn't stop thinking about her, why spending time with her made things feel so much better even through the ache of grief. Why it hurt so deeply to know that she was grieving, too.

It was completely impossible. Inconceivable.

Unforgivable.

And yet—

He had fallen in love with Nymphadora Tonks.

**o.o.o**

Tonks pushed open the door of the Three Broomsticks. Light and noise spilled out into an evening that was damp and foggy even for Scotland, thanks to the dementors. But she had spent all day renewing the charms and spells that kept them out of Hogsmeade and away from Hogwarts, and so tonight, at least, ought to be safe enough. Besides, Proudfoot and Savage were out there somewhere, patrolling for the night shift.

The pub was crowded, as usual. Madam Rosmerta was at the top of her form, chatting with each of the regulars long enough to make them feel special while still keeping all the drinks coming.

Tonks returned her cheerful hello and settled on a butterbeer—it would be an early morning tomorrow. Remus wasn't there yet, so she staked out a booth in an almost-quiet corner and sipped at her drink.

Out of professional habit and natural curiosity, she scanned the room, watching people, trying to guess what they were like or what they were talking about. But it was a tall gangly boy in the opposite corner with his arm wrapped cosily around a girl that drew her eye. The two of them giggled, and then he leaned down for a quick sloppy kiss.

Tonks sighed, and turned around to watch some Hufflepuffs she knew from school play at Dynamite Darts instead, feeling a little brighter when Robbie McInnis's dart hit the bull's-eye and exploded in a shower of yellow sparks.

**o.o.o**

Remus stood with a lurch and replaced the comb on a shelf in his clothes-cupboard. He tried again to pace, with no more success than before.

This was ridiculous. He, Remus Lupin, did not fall in love.

Could not.

_Must_ not.

He'd had a schoolboy crush, once, in his fourth year. There was a pretty Ravenclaw girl—he couldn't even remember her name, now—in double Herbology. He used to watch her working with the plants in the greenhouse. He had even begun to daydream about asking her to go with him on the next Hogsmeade weekend.

But then came the nightmare. Four or five nights in a row. He would wake up, sweaty and shouting, the details of the dream mercifully fading from memory—except for the moon, and sharp teeth, and much too much blood.

He was only fourteen at the time, but he sat down and thought things through just as methodically as he would for any homework assignment. It quickly became all too clear that if he ever ended up with a girlfriend, not only would he have to tell her his secret, but—assuming she didn't immediately break things off with him on learning what he was—he would put her in danger if a mistake were made at the full moon.

That was completely out of the question.

So, the only responsible decision he could make was to put the pretty Ravenclaw girl out of his mind, and simply make certain never to fall in love.

And he never had.

The closest he had come was probably with Lily. If things had been different—if one of his best mates hadn't been in love with her already, and if he himself hadn't been a danger to society—maybe he _would_ have fallen for her. But they were always just very good friends.

And so Remus had watched all of Hogwarts flirting and squabbling, but he had stayed out of the fray. Whenever James or Sirius (or Peter) teased him about his perennial single status, he would only shrug and insist, "Werewolves do not _have_ girlfriends." And after leaving Hogwarts, he had moved around too frequently to allow any dangerous attachments to form.

But now—now, he had managed to do just what he had sworn he never would.

Remus dropped onto the edge of the bed again, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

The _right_ thing to do would be to keep himself far, far away from Nymphadora until this blew over. No matter how long that might take.

But the very thought made him feel cold.

Desolate.

He was so weak, so selfish—but he simply didn't have the strength to walk away from the most important friendship he had left in his life. Especially not now, not when Sirius's death was still a raw wound in his heart.

Remus sighed and got to his feet again, smoothing down his robes.

At least there was one thing working in his favour: Nymphadora would never, in a million years, even begin to imagine that a shabby, greying werewolf might be developing inappropriate feelings for her. So it couldn't really do any harm to go on being friends, as long as he never, under _any_ circumstances, let slip that he felt something more than friendship.

He met his own troubled eyes in the mirror and nodded once, sharply. He could do this. It would be all right. He wouldn't have to lose his last best mate.

He would simply have to be very, _very_ careful.

**o.o.o**

As noisy as the Dynamite Darts game was, Tonks heard the door when it opened. She turned.

And grinned, with relief as much as anything.

Remus looked just about the same as always tonight, except for the shadows under his eyes. Well, actually, he did look a bit gaunt, now that Molly couldn't just follow him around Grimmauld Place and feed him regular meals. But the stiff, distant look he'd been wearing lately was gone, and she even thought she could see traces of a smile.

He exchanged a pleasant greeting with Rosmerta and looked all around the pub before he spotted Tonks waving at him from her corner booth. Then he did smile, for real, and she felt her stomach turn over, just as it always did when he smiled at her like that.

"Hello," he said, sliding into the opposite side of the booth with a butterbeer for each of them.

"Wotcher." She clinked her frothy mug against his. "Thanks for coming."

"It's good to have a night out." He peered at her in the dim light, and his voice softened. "How are you doing?"

Her smile wavered. "Okay, mostly. You?"

He huffed an almost-laugh. "Same here."

She cast about for something cheerful to say. "I saw Fred today. Have you heard what he and George are up to now?"

His face relaxed into a smile again. "I'm sure I couldn't begin to guess."

"Well," said Tonks, conspiratorially. She leaned across the table and rested her hand on Remus's for emphasis—and because she would take any excuse she could find to touch him, not that it ever made any difference. "I ran into him outside Zonko's today, and ribbed him about spying on the competition. 'You don't know the half of it,' he said, with the biggest smirk—"

And she stopped, because something was wrong. Remus had gone so tense that he was hardly even breathing.

He was staring at her hand where it lay covering his.

Disappointment slammed hard, right in the gut. He had always tolerated her touch, even if he hadn't seemed to notice it particularly, or try to touch her in return. What could have changed?

Maybe it was because he was grieving. Maybe he needed more space, now.

She sat up straighter and pulled her hand away, making to grab her mug and take a sip of butterbeer to cover her embarrassment.

But he looked up as soon as she moved her hand, and she saw surprise in his eyes. And—could it possibly be—disappointment?

It was her turn to freeze.

"Go on," said Remus. His smile was off-centre, and his voice a little hoarse. "What about Fred, then?"

"Erm," said Tonks. She had totally forgotten what she had been saying. "So—he told me he and George have signed a lease for a shop on Diagon Alley."

"A joke shop?" His eyes held open delight, now, and a touch of something that might even be pride. "They must be doing well with their owl-order business."

"To hear Minerva and Snape complain about all the new pranks floating around at Hogwarts, I would say so." Tonks grinned, awash with relief that she hadn't somehow put Remus off.

He grinned back, and took a swallow of butterbeer. Tonks noticed, again, how thin and worn his face was.

"I could do with a bit of a nosh," she said, keeping her tone deliberately casual. "How about you?" Without waiting for Remus to answer—because he would only say that he wasn't hungry—she slid out of the booth and fought her way through the crowded pub to the bar. She secured a basket of chips and a bottle of vinegar and started back across the room, smiling apologies at the people she knocked into as she passed.

**o.o.o**

Remus couldn't look away.

He couldn't stop watching Nymphadora's slow, noisy, clumsy progress through the crowd, holding a basket of chips above her head—a basket of chips he couldn't afford to buy for her.

He couldn't stop watching even when she paused to exchange a few words with the gaggle of young men playing Dynamite Darts. Young men her own age, with good haircuts and shiny black dragonhide jackets, and jeans that were comfortably shabby on purpose, like hers, not threadbare from shameful necessity as his own trousers were. Young men who were handsome and healthy, who weren't already starting to feel the exhaustion that the moon brought him every four weeks.

Remus was too old for Nymphadora, and too poor for anyone. All he had to contribute to a hypothetical relationship was the social ostracism that lycanthropy guaranteed. Even if it hadn't been for the literal danger that he posed at the full moon, the best thing he could do for Nymphadora, if he truly cared for her—_Merlin, but I care for her_—was to keep that sentiment well and truly buried.

And so he would.

But he couldn't look away.

Especially when she turned away from the darts game, and smiled, and it was for him.

**o.o.o**

Halfway back to their quiet corner table, Tonks nearly dropped the basket of chips. Remus was staring at her, and there was something in his eyes that she had never seen before.

Could it possibly mean—

Surely not.

Sirius had insisted that Remus was right on the brink of falling for her. But she wanted to believe that so badly, she was in great danger of seeing all kinds of things that weren't actually there.

Tonks delivered the chips safely to their table and took her place in the booth again. "You like vinegar, don't you?" She held the bottle poised above the basket, giving him a chance to stop her.

"Whatever you like," he said, with a small smile. "I'm really not hungry."

_And pigs fly,_ thought Tonks. She applied vinegar liberally and pushed the basket closer to him. "Go on—you don't have to be hungry to enjoy some chips, and I can't eat all these myself."

Remus hesitated, but then he picked up a chip and saluted her with it. "Thank you."

His smile was normal. The tone of his voice was normal. His reluctance to accept a treat was completely normal. Tonks decided that she must have been imagining things, after all.

She took a deep swallow of butterbeer to wash away the stab of disappointment. Remus was one of the best friends she had ever had, and she was lucky she still had his friendship after all that had happened in the last week and a half. It was too much to be wishing for more.

They munched on the chips, companionably. Remus described the odd characters he'd seen in Knockturn Alley whilst keeping watch outside Borgin & Burkes for the Order recently, and Tonks listened, soothed by the familiar rhythm of his voice. She took a chip and dipped it into the puddle of vinegar at the bottom of the basket before popping it into her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed, and she smiled in pure bliss at the salty, tangy taste.

Remus fell abruptly silent.

Surprised, she looked up to find him staring at her again, with a very odd expression—a sort of hesitant fascination. She grinned at him. To her utter amazement, Remus, the master of composure, cleared his throat and fumbled with his mug before picking up the thread of his story.

Tonks held her breath, watching him flounder.

Maybe he wasn't _entirely_ the same as always.

**o.o.o**

Acting normal in Nymphadora's company was turning out to be much more difficult than Remus had anticipated.

He'd thought he was good at hiding his feelings from others, or even shutting them off completely. Loneliness, grief, humiliation, anger, fear—those, he could generally hide quite well, and just get on with things.

But tonight, he couldn't seem to keep his reactions under control. It must be because he had no experience at all in dealing with attraction.

With love.

Nymphadora touched him again, just a light brush of her hand against his as she talked. This was nothing new—she touched him all the time, on the hand or on the arm, and he'd always been secretly warmed by it. But he had thought he was simply finding comfort in her generous spirit, in the fact that she didn't seem to mind touching a werewolf.

Tonight, her touch was tongues of flame and needles of ice against his skin. All he could think about was how much he wanted to reach out and touch _her,_ how badly he wanted to feel the smooth warm skin of her wrist (or her cheek, or the nape of her neck) under his fingers.

He fought to keep his breathing even, his smiles steady and friendly. But her bright, warm laugh was enough to make him completely forget what he was saying, and he shivered helplessly every time her lips closed around one of those blasted chips.

There was a couple in the corner booth on the other side of the pub; a tall young man had his arm around a lovely young woman, who was snuggled up close. Remus couldn't keep himself from imagining what it would feel like to slide round the table and sit next to Nymphadora, to pull her up against him, to feel her warmth all along his side—

He drew a shaky breath. This had to _stop_.

Nymphadora was staring at him again, undoubtedly wondering what was wrong with him tonight. He produced a laugh, and ate a chip, and said humorous things until she relaxed.

He _had_ to learn to control his thoughts before he managed to ruin this friendship completely.

But surely, all he needed was a little more practice.

**o.o.o**

Tonks had meant to go home fairly early. She had to work a long shift the next day.

But Remus was reacting to her touch tonight. He _was_—she was certain of it now. And he kept watching her when he thought she wasn't looking, drinking her in as though he were trying to memorise her face.

So she didn't even think about leaving until she realised that Madam Rosmerta was actually putting chairs up on tables around them. They laughed, and apologised, and hurried outside.

"You're staying in Hogsmeade now, aren't you?" asked Remus, with a rasp in his voice that made Tonks shiver. "Let me walk you home."

"I am, and thanks," she said, trying to keep the elation out of her own voice. The last thing she wanted to do was overwhelm him, now that she was finally making progress.

But it seemed he didn't want the evening to end, either.

She took his arm, exulting in the way his breath hitched when her fingers wrapped around his sleeve. They set off down the winding lanes in easy, comfortable silence. Crickets chirped, unfazed by the dementors' chill, and the faint scent of early-summer flowers hung in the air.

All too soon, though, they had reached the Aurors' cottage gate.

"Thanks for the company tonight. This was a nice idea." Remus gave her _that_ smile again, the one that made his face light up. The one he only used when he really meant it. "Good night, Tonks."

She grinned back.

But then she saw that he was staring at her again.

She couldn't breathe. His eyes were so warm, so kind—and yet there was something new there, a kind of wistful longing—

Did she dare?

It was indisputable that he had been acting differently tonight—and the longing in his eyes made her heart twist—

The night sounds had gone still around them. Her pulse was pounding in her ears.

Before she could give herself a chance to change her mind, she stepped closer, put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him.

He went rigid.

_Wrong guess, Tonks._ Her heart plummeted. _Brilliant._

She started to pull away.

But then Remus gave a shuddering sigh.

He caught hold of her and pulled her closer, one hand on her shoulder and one settling against the small of her back. His lips began to move against hers, tentatively at first, and then with a sweet, gentle hunger that almost broke her heart.

She slid one hand from his shoulder down his back. His fingers stroked along the nape of her neck and tangled in her hair. He tasted of butterbeer, and smelled of dusty parchment and clean white soap.

The kiss was everything Tonks had ached for, all these endless months.

And it lasted all of ten seconds before Remus abruptly broke the embrace and stumbled a few steps back.

"What—?" she whispered, reaching for him, but he only backed further away.

"Nymphadora," he said hoarsely. "Stop." In the light from the street-lamps, his face was white and drawn. "We can't do this."

He was deeply frightened, she realised—almost terrified. She had never seen him afraid before, not even that horrible night at the Ministry.

It made no sense. He couldn't possibly be afraid of _her_.

"Why not?" She stepped toward him again. "Remus, I love you!"

He flinched as though she had slapped him. "Then you've simply got to stop."

It was her turn to flinch. Those words, in that harsh distant tone—that hurt. But Tonks saw anguish in his eyes now, alongside the fear. She stared, bewildered. "I thought—tonight—I thought you had started to care for me, too."

His sweet, searing kiss couldn't _possibly_ have meant anything else.

Remus looked away. His breathing was ragged and shallow, his hands clenched so tightly into fists that the tendons stood out on his arms.

"Don't you?" Her voice cracked.

"It doesn't matter." He studied her purple trainers. The fists did not unclench. "You have to forget about this."

"That's not an answer," she breathed, realising. She stepped closer again, crossing her arms, and glared. "_Look_ at me and answer the question, Remus. Do you love me, at all?"

He stood, frozen. Silent.

The crickets started chirping again.

Tonks held her breath.

Finally, Remus dragged his gaze upward. She didn't know what she had expected to see when he met her eyes, but it wasn't this hopeless bleakness, this desolate resignation.

He held her gaze for a heartbeat or two. Then, very quietly: "Yes."

The flood of relief his answer brought was so intense, she felt the warning prickle of imminent tears. She scrubbed hastily at her face and opened her mouth to speak.

He shook his head, cutting her off. "But it _doesn't matter._ I've known all my life that I must be alone."

"No!" It was just as Sirius had said, then. She _had_ to make Remus see how wrong this was. "That's daft—it doesn't have to be that way—"

"Oh, yes, it does." His laugh was harsh. Bitter. "Being with me is much too dangerous—you, of all people, should understand the risks; you're trained in fighting Dark Creatures—" He took a deep breath and looked away. "I could never put anyone in danger like that, especially not someone I..." He swallowed. "Someone I care about."

Tonks had dreamed of kissing Remus for months. Sometimes she had pictured him falling happily into her arms. Other times, she had cried herself to sleep, imagining his kind, regretful voice telling her that she was a good friend, but he just couldn't think of her that way.

Never in a million years had she expected him to tell her that he loved her and then _walk away._

"Remus. Listen." He wouldn't look at her, but she pushed on. "I _do_ know what the risks are, but doesn't that mean I know how to protect myself?"

"It's simply out of the question." He shook his head, still staring at her feet. "Just forget all about this. About me. You've got your whole life ahead of you. You'll find someone else to love—someone who isn't too old for you, and too poor, and _too dangerous_."

Tonks frowned fiercely up at him. "Do you think that what I feel is some kind of passing fancy?" She fought to find words that would make him see reason. "I—this isn't—you can't—"

He touched her cheek, very gently, with unsteady fingertips. "I'm sorry, Nymphadora."

The pain in his eyes tore at her like a knife.

Then, before she could say another word, he turned away and Disapparated, leaving her alone in the darkness.

Except that she wasn't, quite. Crickets still chirped. A laugh rang out from a lane or two away. The street-lamp spilled a puddle of light at her feet.

And now at least she knew for a fact that Remus loved her.

"This isn't how it ends, Remus Lupin," she said, finding steel in her voice. "We aren't finished."

~ _fin_ ~

* * *

**Author's notes:** Tonks isn't finished—for which Remus will eventually be very grateful!—but Part I of _Kaleidoscope_ now is. Warmest thanks to all of you for reading, especially those who have left comments along the way.

I still have about three chapters left to draft for Part II, which covers the HBP year, and then I'll go through and give it a good thorough edit before it's ready to post (as a new, separate story) here. I hope to start posting Part II by the year-end holidays, or sooner if I'm lucky. In the meantime, anyone who doesn't want to wait :) is welcome to read the first draft of the existing HBP (and DH) chapters on LiveJournal. Just go to my journal, which is **shimotsuki**_-dot-_**livejournal**_-dot-_**com**, and look at the top of the right-hand sidebar for the _Kaleidoscope_ link. Part II features more angst—of course—but also some adventures with OC werewolves in Greyback's pack, and eventually we get to the crucial Hospital Wing Scene.

This chapter incorporates parts of two ficlets that were posted at the **rt_challenge** community on LiveJournal in January 2007 under the titles "Blindsided" and "Unattainable." [August 2013: Small edits made to bring the story into compliance with the new information about Tonks's Patronus released at Pottermore.]


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